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THE HUDSON LIBRARY. 

► 

Published bi-monthly. Entered as second-class matter. i6°, paper, 
50 cents. Published also in cloth. 

lo Love and ShawUstraps. By Annette Lucille Noble. 

2. Miss Hurd : An Enigma. By Anna Katharine Green. 

3. How Thankful Was Bewitched. By Jas. K. Hosmer. 

4. A Woman of Impulse. By Justin Huntley McCarthy. 

5. The Countess Bettina. By Clinton Ross. 

6. Her Majesty. By Elizabeth K. Tompkins. 

7. Qod Forsaken. By Frederic Breton. 

8. An Island Princess. By Theodore Gift. 

9. Elizabeth’s Pretenders. By Hamilton Aide. 

10. At Tuxter’s. By G. B. Burgin. 

11. Cherryfield Hall. By F. H. Balfour. 

12. The Crime of the Century. By R. Ottolengui. 

13. The Things that Matter. By Francis Gribble. 

14. The Heart of Life. By W. H. Mallock. 

15. The Broken Ring. By :^lizabeth K. Tompkins. 

16. The Strange Schemes of Randolph Mason. By Melville D. Pos 

17. That Affair Next Door. By Anna Katharine Green. 

18. In the Crucible. By Grace Denio Litchfield. 

19. Eyes Like the Sea. By Maurus J6kai. 

20. An Uncrowned King. By S. C. Grier. 

21. The Professor’s Dilemma. By A. L. Noble. 

22. The Ways of Life. By Mrs. Oliphant. 

23. The Man of the Family. By Christian Reid. 

24. Margot. By Sidney Pickering. 

25. The Fall of the Sparrow. By M. C. Balfour. 

26. Elementary Jane. By Richard Pryce. 

27. The Man of Last Resort. By Melville D. Post. 

28. Stephen Whapshare. By Fmma Brooke. 

29. Lost Man’s Lane. By Anna Katharine Green. 

30. Wheat in the Ear. By Alien. 

31. As Having Nothing. By Hester Caldwell Oakley. 

32. The Chase of an Heiress. By Christian Reid. 

33. Final Proof. By Rodrigues Ottolengui. 

34. The Wheel of Qod. By George Fgerton. 

35. John Marmaduke. By S. H. Church. 

36. Hannah Thurston. By Bayard Taylor. 

37. Yale Yarns. By J. S. Wood. 

38. The Untold Half. By Alien. 

39. Rosalba. By Olive P. Rayner. 

40. Dr. Berkeley’s Discovery. By R. Slee and C. A. Pratt. 


G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS, Nlw York and London. 


THE UNTOLD HALF 






THE UNTOLD HALF 



By "ALIEN” 

% 

AUTHOR OF “ WHEAT IN THE EAR,” ETC. 




G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS 
NEW YORK & LONDON 
^be liiiicbei'bocbec iprees 

1899 T ; c' 




TZ -t. 


38308 

Copyright, 1899 

BY 

G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS 







XTbe llfnicbcrbocfeec iprcss, 'Wew J!?orft 

/ 



NOTE 


OEVERAL of my critics have observed that the 
^ speech of my characters of humble life differs 
from that to which one is accustomed in England. 
That is entirely true. The speech of the average New 
Zealander of to-day is quite without provincialism, is 
spontaneous, free, and often picturesque. I make this 
little explanation before introducing the reader to Max 
and Marvel, two of the principal characters in the 
following story. 


“ AEIEN. 





CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I — Far from the Busy Haunts . . . . i 

II— The Man on the Box-Seat .... 13 

III— On the Take 29 

IV— The Strong Man 42 

V — “Very Wide Awake” 55 

VI — Reeusae 65 

VII— A Tea-Party at the World’s End . . 76 

VIII — “Then Let Come What Come May” . . 89 

IX— “I Shade Have Had My Day” . . .100 

X — On a Long and Distant Journey . .117 

XI — M’Kinnon’s Pass 128 

XH — Untrodden Snow 142 

XIII — In the Vaeeey 160 

XIV — Out of the Common Rut . . . .170 

XV — “So Fuee of Frost” 182 

XVI— “ OF Storm and Ceoudiness ” . . 197 


V 


VI 


Contents 


PAGE 


CHAPTER 

XVII — “ I ’1.1, Go TO Her, and Say to Her ” 

XVIII— The Mad Artist 

XIX — Two Pictures 

XX — “And Did She Dove Him? What ie She 
Did Not ? ” 

XXI— By the Coach 

XXII — The One in Ten 

XXIII — In a IvOOKing-Geass 

XXIV — Two Chiedhoods — and the Man between . 

XXV— From Dark to Dawn 

XXVI — Distorted Vision 

XXVII— Ceimbing High 

CONCEUSION . . 



213 

230 

245 

261 

274 

289 

302 

317 

330 

347 

357 

371 



THE UNTOLD HALF 




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i 



THE UNTOLD HALF 


CHAPTER I 

FAR FROM THK BUSY HAUNTS 

I N a region of mountain, glacier, and river, forest- 
girt Lake Manapouri lay under the glamour of the 
southern sunset. The virgin snows that capped the 
mighty mountains flanking the lake touched the crim- 
son sky, and the blood-red west poured its colour into 
the silver of cascades tumbling from indigo rocks to 
meet the purple and russet waters below. The grand 
Cathedral Peaks reared their hoary heads in the dis- 
tance, now enwreathed in rainbow mists, which, veil- 
ing high passes under the evening star, drew in, 
revealed the mighty crags, descended slowly and cut 
off the forest-fringed arms of the lake, curled upwards 
again and obliterated mystery with mystery. 

The ancient silence of the mountains was broken by 
reverberating echoes of avalanches falling far away ; 


2 


The Untold Half 


nearer by the music of rapids singing of their everlast- 
ing source, the shrill note of the weka^ the softer call 
of the kiwis, and the human, thrilling voice of a girl. 

She stood upon the veranda of a log cottage built 
upon the margin of the lake — a toy-house embedded 
between mountain and water, its brightly curtained 
windows, gleaming among flowering vine, arresting the 
eye of the traveller in a wilderness of magniflcence ; 
where deep, dark ravine and sombre shadow contrasted 
with gleaming snow-pinnacle; and where little news 
came from distant cities, and the wars were cloud wars, 
and the rumours of war the thunder-cannon of the fast- 
nesses held by the ages. An occasional echo of man’s 
daring wafted from the snow-flelds : one went up to 
cloudland and came down no more ; another had died 
in the bosom of some deep lake embedded in precipitous 
rock ; and one had scaled a dangerous pass that led 
to a wonderland of tumbling falls, forests, and fairy 
groves. 

But the dark eyes of the girl had beheld these things, 
and the witchery of mountain and lake had not con- 
tented them ; she shaded them with her hand from the 
grandeur of the savage peaks, and, turning from Fiord- 
land, focussed her vision to the road-track visible 
among the shadows of rock and forest, watching in- 
tently for the coach that presently emerged into the 
open and the tinted light of sunset. It was the link 
between the wilderness and habitation occasionally 


Far from the Busy Haunts 


3 


bringing a living presence to the wilds. This evening 
there was a man on the box-seat, and, as though he 
came with a message to her from a world she pined for, 
her eyes brightened and her cheeks flushed to meet 
him. 

The Maori driver drew rein, singing contentedly in 
sonorous bass, ‘‘^7" was mother's little pickaninny y 
He had a parcel to deliver, and while he rummaged. 
Marvel Meredith’s unabashed glance discovered that 
the stranger was well-looking and young, and that his 
suit of knickerbocker tweeds was of “ tourist” cut ; 
that he was fair, slightly sunburnt, and that his face 
was reposeful, strong, cynical, and that his grey eyes 
were soft though penetrating in expression, and had a 
trick of fastening themselves upon an object as though 
he saw it. He evidently saw her, and seemed to decide 
that she was worth attention. Unusually tall, she em- 
phasised her height by the proud poise of her head ; 
her rounded lissom. figure suggested strength as well as 
gracefulness, and the way her little feet were planted 
and her body held, it was not difficult to imagine her 
stepping lightl}^ from boulder to boulder over a moun- 
tain gorge, or, with shoulders thrown back to the 
storm, climbing her native peaks. Her dress did not 
disavow, but proclaimed a girl’s natural vanity, for it 
revealed the soft round throat and arms to the dimpled 
elbow. It was but cotton, its tint was of faded rose 
shaded to a pale brown in the folds ; the kerchief at 


4 


The Untold Half 


her neck was of fine muslin, and the belt clasping 
her waist was silver. Her abundant dark hair — bronze 
where it caught the light — was coiled with simple art, 
and clustered in tiny curls about the low forehead and 
bare throat. How her appearance would have carried 
in the modern world she did not know — here it was re- 
markable. She gauged that by the steady gaze of the 
man’s eyes. She had crossed his vision when it was 
dazed by much loveliness, but she had arrested it. 

While the flush of gratification was tingling her 
cheeks, the porch door opened, and a man stepped on 
the veranda beside her — a tall, gaunt man with ‘‘ a 
February face,” cold, set, stern, with deep eyes of 
singularly penetrating glance, and the far-seeing look 
of the sailor. Tall as the girl was, her head only 
reached his shoulder, and her fine physical proportions 
lost undue significance beside the sinewy length and 
strength of limb of the man. Although young, his 
face was set in the determined lines of a middle-aged 
man, the lines from nose to chin were deep- cut, and the 
dark brows met in a stern furrow ; but the curve of jaw 
was softened by a singularly sweet mouth — a mouth 
not weak in any line. The lips folded resolutely and 
in determination, but a strange sweetness lingered 
about them, and a stranger almost expected them to 
open in a rush of soft words belying the sternness of 
the face. 

lyooking attentively at the man on the box-seat, then 


Far from the Busy Haunts 


5 


critically at the girl, he bade the stranger a curt good- 
evening — who answered with the polite assurance and 
uplifted hat of easy manners — then busied himself with 
the package delivered, nodded to the driver, and would 
have thus dismissed the incident. But the girl gazed 
yearningly after the departing coach. The crack of 
the driver’s whip awoke echoes which but slowly died 
away into the silence ; his snatch of song trailed far 
into the distance before she turned — then she did so 
half savagely, as though some thought of her own, or 
his, had hustled her. She made to push past him, then 
stopped. 

“Well?” she asked defiantly, the two brown 
eyes meeting the downward gaze of the man before 
her. 

“ You ’ve got the cries of the city in your ears again, 
the light of its lamps in your eyes,” he said, with 
singular gentleness and sadness. 

“ Well ? ” she interrogated again in the same tone. 

‘ ^ And it deafens and blinds you to this, ’ ’ he added 
with a gesture, indicating the surrounding loveliness — 
“ it deadens your heart, hardens it.” 

“ And if it does am I to blame ? Am I to blame 
that I long for stir and life, that I love people more 
than mountains ? ” 

^ ‘ People, not me, ’ ’ he said. Then rousing into sud- 
den passion he continued : “A crowd, a stranger, a 
new kerchief, a knot of ribbon from the town, for these 


6 


The Untold Half 


you pine — any one of these will make you smile. You 
look at me with gloomy eyes. ’ ' 

She laughed. 

“ I have looked at you so long/’ she said lightly and 
with a touch of scorn. Max Hawthorne, man of the 
mountains, strong and stern like them ! Bitter, hard 
you are. Max, on a girl and her ways, hard like your 
mother was on my father. It was that drove him 
away.” 

She turned impatiently, and folding her soft arms on 
the rail of the veranda, looked again where the coach 
had disappeared among the shadows. 

Max shifted his position and with his broad shoulders 
shut off her view. 

‘‘That ’s not so,” he said, trying to swallow the 
anger her words had roused, “ nor is it true about 
my mother. Your father was — ” His face blazed 
under the tan, then grew cold. He did not finish his 
sentence, but his voice was thick and husky when he 
proceeded. “ I have not told you yet, nor shall I, how 
your father stabbed her ! ” Then with a gentle touch 
upon her arm he asked, his passion sunk in humility, 
“ Am I stem ? Am I frozen and cold ? Listen.” He 
lifted his hand with simple impressiveness. 

Marvel raised her head. Silence far and near, deep 
and profound, unbroken save by tumbling streams. 

“I hear nothing but falling water,” she said sul- 
lenly. 


Far from the Busy Haunts 7 

‘ * It was frozen snow before the sun melted it, ’ ’ he 
said. '' Your love could melt me 

She broke in upon his words with a laugh. “ Poeti- 
cal ! ” 

‘‘ Is it ? ” he asked. ‘Ht 's truth,'' he added simply. 
He was a clumsy fellow and had no duplicity. He 
took the illustration as a symbol of what was reality to 
him, not by choice of cultivated intellect — it was adapt- 
able. 

‘‘ It does not signify whether written or said, it 's 
truth anyway," he commented presently. 

'' Always truth, truth, fact, fact! " exclaimed the girl, 
with irritation. ‘‘I'm tired of truthful, dry, uninter- 
esting facts — I 'd like a little nonsense without any 
rhyme or reason. There are pleasant things, I take it, 
not absolutely true — the colours of the mist, those 
golden pathways on the water, illusions, of course, but 
beautiful." 

The man followed her glance with his own, then 
searched the girl’s face. He felt the sophistry of her 
argument, but could not combat it, nor voice his inex- 
tinguishable need. But his suffering was sacred be- 
cause of her ; while she was near to bewitch him he 
could bear, although she cowed him when tempest 
and danger found his spirit undaunted. As explorer 
and guide, he knew the meaning of danger ; the ever- 
lasting hills had been his home from infancy : their 
silence and solitude and stern purity had breathed 


8 


The Untold Half 


something of their spirit into the man whose compan- 
ions they were — their iciest winds did not chill him as 
the cold glances of this girl, nor their storms batter 
him like her scorn. This evening a new feeling of 
loneliness took possession of him. A sense of aliena- 
tion from happiness, an intangible shadow, darkened 
his mind. Would Marvel go ? Would this thirst for 
excitement kill his hope ? Her father’s blood, the 
blood of betrayal, ran in her veins. The next minute 
his face was dyed with the shame of his thought. 

Marvel,” called his mother’s voice, breaking in 
upon his reverie in cold, decisive tones, ^ ‘ Marvel, come 
in.” 

The girl turned with a little gesture indicative of 
restrained impatience, and entered the cottage. 

The door opened into a square lobby, with a doorway 
right and left, and another at the end. Marvel passed 
the threshold on the left, and stood in a long, low, 
roughly ceilinged apartment, with a window at each 
end. A bare, clean floor was carpeted only by red 
cloth rugs of woman’s handicraft ; ribbons to match 
tied back the white curtains, and the deep window-sills 
bloomed with pot plants. A chintz-covered cane sofa, 
several deep-seated chairs upholstered to match, a 
huge chest of drawers in mahogany, and a table of the 
same wood covered with a red cloth, completed the 
furniture of the room. The walls were roughly plas- 
tered by an unskilled hand, and unadorned, save by 


Far from the Busy Haunts 


9 


several enlarged photographs which hung in shell 
frames. One was of a singularly handsome man, with 
eyes and curved mouth like Marvel’s ; but the face 
lacked her strength and decision, and the lips seemed 
smiling in thinly veiled scorn. The light from the 
western window flooded full upon it, and quickened 
the pictured face to a look of life ; it seemed conscious 
of itself, appeared to flush under its veil of cynicism 
and self-satisfaction, and to smirk insolently at the 
pictured woman opposite, and to deride her stern hard- 
featured beauty. 

Max and Marvel, as depicted in their childhood, held 
a conspicuous place ; and in a shadowy corner the fifth 
portrait hung — of a rough, ungainly man. 

The room was without dust or speck, the bright 
touches of colour alone redeemed it from downright 
ugliness ; and yet there was a certain grim interest in 
it pertaining to its daily occupant — a woman who lay 
in a white-draped bed. 

In reality the woman would have claimed first atten- 
tion — the room was but a setting to her austerity. The 
bed stood between the eastern and western windows ; 
on the one hand its occupant could see the sun rise, on 
the other watch its setting behind the snow-peaks. 
Its beams had shortened now, and left the face on the 
pillow in the grey afterlight — a face wonderfully like 
that of Max, but older and whiter, sterner. The pale 
lips were drawn into a hard line ; the iron-grey hair was 


lO 


The Untold Half 


rigidly parted and coiled from the seamed forehead into 
neat braids behind. It was a dead, cold face, inscrut- 
able, implacable, except for the blue-grey eyes, which 
shone under bushy eyebrows that were like the eye- 
brows of a man. 

'' Yes,” said Marvel, who, entering the room, seemed 
to infuse it with life, the life of beauty and youth. 
‘‘You called me — mother.” 

She hesitated over the last word, as though reluctant 
to claim kindred. The woman noted, her hard face 
grew more rigid. She seemed about to speak, then 
glanced at the pictured face in its place of honour. 
She had married Marvel’s father when her own son 
was a big lad and Marvel was a little witch-child ; 
but her step-daughter still stumbled over the word 
“ mother.” Not that she had any fond remembrance 
of another woman bearing that name. The woman on 
the bed had cared for her as Frank Meredith had not 
done ; but it was an antagonism of instinct, a warring 
against the limitations of this woman’s sphere ; the 
emotional at feud with the practical. 

The father of Max had been an honest man, and 
Mary Hawthorne his hard-working wife. While they 
twain had been of one flesh, she kept his house, bore 
his child, nursed him in sickness, tended him in 
health, and mourned him in death, without a suspicion 
of sentiment or imagination, and for several years of 
widowhood she pursued her monotonous path without 


Far from the Busy Haunts 


II 


deviation. On the verge of the wilderness/' midway 
between the lakes and the nearest town, she kept an 
inn, and was known on the road for a “ hard-headed, 
conscientious body,” who gave little charity but the 
fair value of a shilling. Here, one day, came Frank 
Meredith and his wayward Marvel, and the stern, silent 
woman, who had neither tears nor smiles, approval nor 
censure for the outside world, mothered the handsome 
pair, first as hostess, and then r.s the young man’s wife. 

As mine host of the inn, Frank Meredith shone, 
while a fever of youth burned in the woman’s sluggish 
veins, lighting her eyes, tinting her cheeks, curving 
the set mouth, and, to a voice unmusical, giving soft 
tones. Mary Meredith fetched and carried for her 
laughing lord ; brushed his soft curls for him, tied his 
kerchief, warmed his slippers, and laced his boots ; 
which service the man permitted with a gracious con- 
descension that suited his personal beauty — both beauty 
and toleration alike being cherished in a sort of agony 
of appreciation by the woman whose muscles had grown 
teiivSe with labour. She was up last at night to tend 
belated travellers and bar the doors, and rose first in 
the morning to unbolt, polish, and scrub, and tend the 
witch-child that tyrannised over her gaunt, melancholy- 
visaged, overgrown son. 

When one morning she found that her husband had 
deserted and robbed her she laid her hand upon her 
boy’s arm with a quick movement, as though in re- 


12 


The Untold Half 


morse for having for the moment displaced him. Her 
eyes were full of tears, and in her blanched face an 
eagerness and piteousness. No word was spoken be- 
tween the two, but the lad drew his breath and girded 
himself ; not with a thought that he had been de- 
frauded of love or estate, but with the resolve that one 
day he would avenge that look on his mother’s face. 

The woman went to work again without complaint, 
and those who would have condoled, being checked by 
her reserve, ridiculed when out of hearing, till by 
reason of her silence they forgot she ever was wounded; 
her pride thus saving her the pain of the weaker nature 
that parades its wound for the ointment that ofttimes 
keeps it raw. But her face grew thinner, her voice 
sharper, while she held her head high and her manners 
had an ugly side — the side she turned to the world. 
But while she grappled with difficulties she showed a 
practical reasonableness towards the girl and boy that 
disarmed them of fear. When Max and Marvel were 
man and woman she thought first of rest. She sold 
the wayside inn — some said she feared difficulties with 
the girl and the company it brought — and came to the 
lake from the highway, but not too far away to be 
found by the returning wanderer. Then, when she 
had fitted the nest to her liking, she stooped, one day, 
to lift a weight not heavier than she had carried fre- 
quently, and her back snapped and she was helpless. 



CHAPTER II 

THE MAN ON THE BOX-SEAT 
OU called me,” said Marvel again, receiving no 



answer except the scornful flash of the woman’s 


eyes. 


‘‘ You are cruel,” was the answer in even, passion- 
less tones that had something of despair in them. 

Why don’t you go ? ” 

” Go! ” echoed the girl, surprised. She had counted 
herself a prisoner, duty bound. 

” Aye, go,” responded the cold voice without a 
break. “You will go sooner or later, better let it be 
sooner. Better let it be before you bring my lad to 
sorrow. I heard you just now. Shut- to the window ; 
I don’t want Max to overhear mey 

Marvel obeyed mechanically ; she had learned the 
trick of obedience to this woman. When the window 
was closed, the girl stood sullenly looking out over the 
waters where long shadows were trailing. ‘ ‘ I thought 
you needed me,” she said, by way of answer. 


13 


14 


The Untold Half 


Need ? And what if I do ? It 's a poor sort of a 
creature that puts its own need first. I 'm chained in 
my body to this bed like a log, but I ain’t chained in 
my mind, and I can see how indifferent you are to any- 
thing but your own pleasure. And it ’s useless wishing 
you were otherwise. Every seed after its kind.” 

The bitterness of the tone arrested Marvel ; also the 
words. The silent woman had found tongue. Marvel 
winced. It was the first implied reproach she had 
heard against her father. She flushed sensitively, but 
more with wounded vanity than love. The glamour 
which the deserted wife had thrown about Frank 
Meredith had affected her own vision. Suddenly she 
caught a glimpse of the man as he was. It had been 
the privilege of shelter and pampering to be her father’s 
daughter in this woman’s home. 

‘‘If it ’s in the blood it will show one day or an- 
other,” murmured Mary Meredith, as though to herself. 

“ No, don’t say it! ” exclaimed the girl, with a quick 
change of manner to tones and gestures of entreaty. 
“ Don’t say that I am craven. Am I selfish, that some- 
times I feel like one hopelessly imprisoned ? Perhaps 
I am ; but you are not at fault, you have shared your 
life with me, only I do not think you feel the same 
about things. I detest monotony ; I ’m not ungrateful 
in my heart, it ’s my temper. Eet me begin over again, 
but ” 

She paused in her hot speech, pressed the palms of 


The Man on the Box-Seat 


15 


her clasped hands together, and paled, her eyes shining 
with a frightened look as they met those regarding her. 

“ But what ? ” asked the woman. 

Max must not make love to me.’’ 

She waited after her bold speech, as though fearing 
reproach. But none came ; instead, her foster-mother 
sighed. 

“ You see,” said Marvel, going on eagerly, glad to 
avail herself of the unusual privilege of free speech, 
‘ ‘ Max and I have been as brother and sister — chums. 
As my chum there was no one like Max. But since he 
has wanted to be something different I am afraid of 
him. He misunderstands, misconstrues everything. 
My old careless ways hurt him ; if I am gentle he 
hopes falsely. It is so difficult, and it makes me so 
wretched to see him miserable that I get angry. I 
want to stay and care for you, mother. I could n’t 
leave you like this, but Max makes it difficult. This 
evening he was angry because I looked at a man on 
the box-seat ” 

“ I saw you,” interrupted the woman ; 'Mt angered 
me too. It ’s bold an’ brazen-faced to deck yourself up 
to flaunt in the eyes of strange men. ’ ’ 

It ’s not more indecent than to listen to the love 
words of a man you don’t love ! ” retorted Marvel, with 
quick temper. 

That will do,” answered the woman coldly. ** You 
can go, and send Max here.” 


The Untold Half 


i6 

The man came presently with the awkward gait of 
one accustomed to rough roads trying to step softly. 
He would have been a handsome-looking man in well- 
made attire, but his coarse, clumsy clothes disguised 
the fine limbs ; they did not detract from his great 
height, however — he towered like a giant in the room. 
The woman^s eyes dwelt on him fondly; she admired 
his strength the more because of her own enforced in- 
activity. There was something of yearning in her 
voice as she greeted him. 

Well, boy?’^ 

Well, mother 

He knew her sufiiciently to be sure that she had 
something to say, and her next pointless remark did 
not disarm him. 

‘‘What ^s doing 

He told her patiently what news had reached their 
obscurity. It was his habit. He had thrilling tales 
at times after absences, tales of profound courage. 
And to the mother as to the son the fascination of 
mountain lore was great. Marvel would interrupt 
frequently with queries of ‘ ‘ What sort of a man ? ' ’ 
“ What did he say, how look ? ” “ His sort is in what 

he did, ’ ’ Max would reply. 

But there was nothing supernatural or miraculous to 
tell this evening ; the brief narrative ended with, 
“ There came a stranger by the coach.’* Then silence 
fell between them. 


The Man on the Box-Seat 


17 


‘‘ Boy,” said his mother after a long pause, give 
her liberty. You ’re a bit masterful ; you take after 
me in that. But she ’s like her father there — and he ’d 
have none of it. I^ove ’s a witchery, boy, not religion, 
let the parsons talk as they will. The less duty there 
is in it, the more it fascinates. ’ ’ 

Max had been sitting with folded arms and bowed 
head. He lifted his clear eyes now and fixed them 
upon his mother as though surprised. Something of 
unusual life in her quiet face arrested his attention. 

What ’s lawful and right never yet satisfied human 
nature — it soothes the conscience, but it don’t gratify 
the flesh. So don’t set too much store by what you 
think a girl’s duty if you want her to hanker for your 
company — give her rein ! ” 

“ And lose her ! ” 

‘‘ Better lose her than wed with an unwilling mate. 
You ’re not a coward in a general way. Max Haw- 
thorne, nor a browbeater, nor yet a persecutor — don’t 
try it on a girl.” 

His bronzed face flushed. He had not expected 
attack, and least of all from this quarter. 

“ I persecute ! ” he exclaimed, astonished. 

You ’re not alone in it,” answered the woman, as 
though she had thought it out till her brain was weary ; 
‘‘ it ’s in a man’s blood to regard a woman as his prey. 
Some of us know it, an’ some don’t ; the difference is 
in the persecution an’ not the fact ; but a man’s passion 


i8 


The Untold Half 


demands us, body an' mind. I order the girl about 
myself, ’ ’ she added grimly ; ‘ ‘ but no woman ever ex- 
pects to chain another woman for life." 

"Are you against me then, mother? Don’t you 
approve of Marvel for my wife ? ’’ 

" Approvin’ or disapprovin’ is neither here nor there, 
boy. If a man has set his heart on a maid, the experi- 
ence of his mother is like offerin’ him milk and water 
when he ’s cravin’ for strong drink. But I won’t 
coerce her, nor have her feel that she must fly my roof 
for peace. I ’m fond of the lass — she ’s my own in a 
way. An’ she must be accounted for to her father.’’ 

Max started. Twice to-night she had referred to her 
scoundrel of a husband. His name had not passed her 
lips for years. The young man’s mouth set. If ever 
he and Marvel’s father came face to face it did not 
promise well for the meeting. Max hoped she had for- 
gotten. In his new-born knowledge he realised his 
mother’s shame and pain. He stooped gently and 
kissed her. The caress was unusual and unexpected, 
and the woman’s lips trembled. So, not to see, the son 
busied himself about the pillows. " Anything I can 
do for you ? ’’ he asked cheerily. 

" The thing I want most is n’t in your power. I ’d 
like better than anything on earth this night to rise 
from my bed and walk with my two feet along the 
shore. But you can set the lamp in the window if you 
will — the red lamp. Your father — I mean Marvel’s 


The Man on the Box-Seat 


19 


father — said it gave the house a look of comfort, and 
the light carried far. ’ * 

Damn — the match!’’ muttered Max. His hand 
shook a little over his light task, but he performed it ' 
carefully and without hurry ; then set the lamp on the 
broad sill among the geraniums, and threw the window 
wide open again. As he turned he glanced surrep- 
titiously at the pictured face on the wall. His hand 
closed as though his impulse was to smash his doubled 
fist in the smirking face, but refrained for the woman’s 
sake. 

Feel any pain ? ” he asked presently. 

None.” 

Her tone dismissed him, and a moment later his 
massive head and shoulders were visible through the 
window- flowers, silhouetted against a clear sky. 

A twang of a violin string broke the silence into which 
the woman had fallen, and a spasm of pain crossed the 
set calmness of her face. To-night memory was keen, 
regret poignant, and her eyes were eloquent of her 
unspoken remorse as she turned them to the shadowy 
corner where the ungainly portrait hung. The father 
of Max had cherished a secret hope for their son. As 
a lad he had, almost untaught, made sweet music on 
the violin ; why should he not, taught, do something 
more than play well ? The man had loved his money 
and hoarded it, but he had been ready to jeopardise it 
for this. It was his cherished scheme that the boy 


20 


The Untold Half 


should be above the common. And she, Mary Mere- 
dith, had made the dead father’s wish impracticable ; 
she, the lynx-eyed, had relinquished control of the 
hoard that was to have transformed the rough lad into 
a gentleman — something more, perhaps, a genius ! — 
and permitted its squander and dissipation because of 
a smiling face. Her own flesh and blood had been put 
to dire straits because of her folly. She had tried hard 
to right him, but she could not overtake the vanished 
years. She turned her head upon her pillows, and 
gazed at the head bent low over the beloved instru- 
ment ; her lean, long fingers — knotted at the knuckles 
with much labour — clasped in appeal that was almost 
prayer. Did he know ? Did he ever guess ? Had he 
ever suffered in his restriction — ever pined to be other 
than he was ? His name was tacked to deeds of 
bravery ; men talked of his daring afar off ; had he 
ever thought of or aspired to a world she had denied ? 
He had. His music was intoxicating his senses even 
now, leading him to something that seemed awful in its 
nearness, and then evaded him and left him faint with 
longing and disappointment. He was wrestling now 
with the bitterness of loss, feeling all his force puny 
beside what he had missed. There was to him some- 
thing fearful in the thought of what he was beside that 
which he might have been, for the might-have-been 
seemed to hold the possibilities — a name that the world 
should know — and love. Dove was Marvel, of course. 


The Man on the Box-Seat 


21 


Had the world esteemed, she would ha.ve smiled. He 
thought in a past tense this evening. 

Meanwhile Marvel had strolled to the shore. The 
evening shadows had lengthened and deepened, black 
and silver were substituted for crimson and gold. Above 
the snows great stars twinkled in their pearl-grey set- 
ting, and in the deep silence the wavelets of the lake, 
the splash of oars, a boatman’s voice, and the far-off 
call of night birds in the dark bush were almost start- 
ling. The phenomena of nature, its calm and remote- 
ness, did not soothe the girl, rather intensified her 
loneliness. ^ ‘ I am never lonely under the stars, ’ ’ she 
had heard Max say ; but she was not Max : she hun- 
gered for flesh companions, human beings with human 
wills. Existence was not enough. At nineteen years 
this bounteous solitude was out of proportion to her 
desires. Her sensations were too limited for this mag- 
nitude. But she must remain. Her father had for- 
saken the woman who had fed both him and her. And 
now, when their benefactor was helpless — of course she 
would remain ! The boatman’s voice and oar-splashes 
came nearer, and, lost in thought, the girl stood un- 
consciously waiting for his approach. In this lone spot 
the freemasonry of comradeship overrides convention 
and habit ; more than curiosity held the girl for greet- 
ing. As she waited, the moon rose behind the sombre 
heights, turning to dazzling silver every snow-crowned 
peak, picking out each falling stream and wave-crest, 


22 


The Untold Half 


intensifying the blackness of granite and bush. Pre- 
sently a silver pathway opened up on the rippling 
water, and the boat with its singing oarsman came 
over it to the shore. 

** Oh ! pray make no mistake, 

We are not shy, 

We ’re very wide awake, 

The moon and I.” 

The boatman became aware of the waiting girl, and 
springing ashore fastened the boat to the rough landing- 
place. Uncovering his head he approached. Marvel 
recognised the man who had occupied the box-seat. 
She had been so engaged with the thought of him, had 
had the fact of him so persistently forced upon her, that 
his appearance neither surprised nor disconcerted her. 

It ^s a fine night, she said, simply. 

Fine ! ” ejaculated the man; ‘‘ the spirit of beauty 
has revealed itself ! ’ ^ 

He glanced at her as he spoke, then turned and 
gazed at the scene. His attitude and expression irri- 
tated her. His absorption in nature was neglect of 
her ; she had acquired the vulgar habit of deeming 
herself of first attraction ; the compliments of passing 
strangers she regarded as a sort of homage due to her. 
And this man was enraptured with the sea and the sky. 

‘ ‘ I despair ! ” he said after a moment. 

“ Why ? she asked in wonder, for he surprised her. 

I am an artist,” he replied. 


The Man on the Box-Seat 


23 


Can’t you paint it ? ” she asked without modifica- 
tion, and with her quick sense of understanding. 

My good girl,” he answered with a touch of irrita- 
tion, ‘ Mf I could reproduce six feet of that mystery and 
splendour, suggest those vast heights, that limitless 
distance, those limpid depths, I should be famous ! 
The whole world would n’t be large enough to hold 
my name.” 

How funny ! ” she said and laughed. He wheeled 
round at that and stared at her. 

Funny ? ” he queried. 

Well, so I do think it is,” she replied, on the de- 
fensive. There ’s so much of this sort of thing 
about” — waving her hand comprehensively towards 
the grand panorama — that for a man to be wor- 
shipped because he can copy a bit of it seems ridiculous, 
especially when the Creator of the whole don’t count 
for much. ’ ’ 

The man laughed now, long and musically, scrutinis- 
ing the girl’s displeased face the while. 

“ You suggest an idea,” he said presently — ” God 
as the unappreciated Artist. He has been called a 
Man of Sorrows.” 

Is it then so great a grief to miss renown ? ” 

He nodded, turning from her again. ‘ ‘ Fame is the 
artist’s dream, because it means ^ I have excelled.’ 
Fame, and a soul with whom to share it. That is a 
full cup.” 


24 


The Untold Half 


He spoke more to himself than to her, and the girl 
resented his words and manner of saying them ; there 
was an aloofness about them, beyond her comprehen- 
sion. 

‘ ‘ The world is chock full of men, ' ' he added ; ‘ ‘ work 
alone distinguishes individuals from the crowd. 

Why should it be unhappiness to be one of many ? ” 
‘‘Why? It is insignificant! Human nature is 
egotistic I Even Divinity calls itself the great ‘ I am. ' 
We are copyists, as you say. ^^ediocrity is neither of 
heaven nor 

“ Are you mediocre ? 

Again he laughed and turned to her, amused. “ If 
genius is close union with life, I have been a genius for 
a happy half-day, brooding in joy over my creations. 
I felt myself a poet, everything was bom afresh within 
me. But you with your practical common-sense have 
narrowed my visions, checked my extravagant emo- 
tion. At the same time you have given me a vivid im- 
pression — I should like to paint you , ' ’ 

She crimsoned in the moonlight. But not with 
pleasure. She did not wholly comprehend his words, 
but she realised that she broke his highest illusion, 
that her level was his descent — condescension. 

She turned away with rude dignity. “ I forbid you 
to paint me ! ’’ she said with decision. 

He was surprised, imagining that she would have 
been gratified. She was an uncouth barbarian ; her 


The Man on the Box-Seat 


25 


criticism decidedly unflattering. Mediocre ? An imi- 
tation ? Well, perhaps ; perchance a vulgar imitation 
with his eye on the crowd. He had deemed himself a 
cultured critic, but this girl had pinched his self-respect; 
and, as a consequence, he resented her. 

They walked along silently for a few paces, then he 
said : ‘‘You think it easy to reach the sublime. It is 
as easy as to stretch out this arm and reach the stars ! ^ ^ 

He lifted his arm with an eloquent gesture, then let 
it fall almost in hopelessness, but he did not withdraw 
his gaze from the great expanse that flung silver daisy- 
chains from peak to peak of dazzling snow. But there 
was something in his nearness, stranger though he was, 
that gratifled the lonely girl more than the beauty she 
had been face to face with all her turbulent, passionate 
youth. His personal reflnement piqued and pleased 
her, though he goaded her by his assumption of su- 
periority. She had little knowledge of the “ great 
things of life that might put a bar between them, and 
less did she surmise that her lack of convention might 
disillusion him of some preconceived conception. 

“ So I am not to paint you ? '’ he said with an easy 
change of manner, bringing his gaze from the infinite 
to the finite attraction of her face. She felt the subtle 
change in his manner, the cheapening in his glance, 
and that something in her which was to protest later 
even to the making of tragedy rose now in revolt. She 
winced that the highest in him did not applaud her. 


26 


The Untold Half 


She drew herself up with a fine scorn full of youth's 
candour and imperiousness. 

“ I beg you to excuse me." 

The manner and tone took him by surprise. You 
are a stranger," it implied ; and, with a responding 
impulse of formality, he, man-like, being checked in 
impertinence, was desirous of establishing his claim to 
consideration honourably. He presented his card. ‘ * I 
have learned your name. Miss Meredith, as you hear. 
Permit me. Good- night." 

She strolled towards Beach Cottage slowly, depressed, 
vaguely conscious that she had disappointed the man. 
She did not know that the name " Wynn Winter" 
upon the card she held was a name that the great world 
had its eye upon, nor that she had refused with disdain 
an honour for which dainty ladies had sued. She felt 
at a disadvantage, and resented the position. Twice 
to-night she had been made of little account. The 
sound of Max’s violin reached her and soothed her irri- 
tation, for his theme was sad. For the first time the 
playing of Max struck her as something out of the 
common. It had the man’s strength and individuality, 
and an underlying tenderness. How had he attained 
proficiency ? She had been educated in this last hour. 
" It is as easy to reach the divine as it is to reach the 
stars." Then how did some come at it ? For herself, 
what could she do ? Keep house and make her frocks. 
With new appreciation she said as she passed, ‘‘You 


The Man on the Box-Seat 27 

play well, Max ' ’ ; and his hands trembled over the 
strings at her unwonted praise. 

Marvel was very quiet while she gave her step-mother 
her supper and made her comfortable for the night. 
Her manner struck the woman pleasantly; there was a 
new humility in it. Mary Meredith was surprised that 
night by a second caress. 

Marvel’s room was on the opposite side of the lobby 
to Mrs. Meredith’s, and after her attendance upon her 
step-mother the girl crossed to it, although she could 
hear Max softly whistling in the sitting-room at the 
back, and knew by his movements and the gentle clat- 
ter of plates that he was preparing her supper. But 
she had no appetite. Occupied with new thoughts, 
she passed unconsciously to her mirror and gazed ab- 
stractedly at her reflection. But her unconsciousness 
lasted only for a moment. The untamed, beautiful 
thing regarding her roused to attention. The dark 
eyes softened and widened, and a half-smile curved the 
crimson drooping mouth. 

“ He said he would like to paint me.” She leaned 
her elbows upon the dressing-table, and stared hard at 
her reflection, endeavouring to give it conscientious 
consideration. Was she beautiful ? Max said so. 
Compared with the few women she had seen in this re- 
treat, she was, undoubtedly. The colour and tints of 
skin and hair pleased her. She had never been so 
pleased by any face she had seen, except the face of 


28 


The Untold Half 


Cordelia Grey, the half-mad artist's daughter who 
lived at the Southern Ford. Without any connection 
of thought, the memory of Cordelia hurt her. She 
moved away from the glass, as though to hide her 
agitation from her own eyes. 

‘‘ No," she said aloud, he shall not paint me." 
If she could have put her sensations into words, they 
would have been to the effect that she would not be a 
tool of his art, one of the external aids to his greatness. 

She looked round her chamber, as though in search 
of something not previously missed. It was not a rigid 
room like the one opposite, although as scrupulously 
clean and sweet. It was dainty with flowered chintzes 
and girlish prettinesses. But in Marvel’s mood to- 
night the prettinesses annoyed her ; they seemed to 
partake in some way of her new sense of smallness. 
She suddenly extinguished her light, and covered her 
face with the bed-sheet. 

And Wynn Winter, who saw the light go out, un- 
caring that it was Marvel’s, strolled back slowly to his 
hotel, thrilling yet to the music he had heard. “ If I 
could do that,'' he said without cynicism, “ I should 
have established my claim to consideration. What 
sensibility, what character and beauty, in the multiplied 
harmonies! It was n’t the girl — could it have been the 
giant ? There are two men worth knowing in this 
wilderness — Max Hawthorne the explorer and the 
violinist." 



CHAPTER III 


ON THE TAKE 


EL that concerned Wynn Winter was of a satis- 



factory nature this summer morning. His isola- 
tion was deliberate, not enforced. Travellers’ tales 
had reached him of this treasure-land for the artist, 
with its wonders of light and shade, and he had come 
to see. Twelve hours had informed him the half had 
not been told. 

He was not a man of impulse and quick results ; 
laborious and engrossing study had led to his success. 
He was gifted with that sublime patience which is the 
right hand of genius. He lolled now in his boat, 
dressed in a suit of white flannel, his palette left at the 
inn, for he meant the colours and suggestions of his 
surroundings to do their will with his imagination be- 
fore he commenced the work that was to stamp him 
great. Weeks, months, years — it mattered little, he 
could afford to wait. He had riveted himself to labour 
by his own will all the days of his youth ; success had 


29 


30 


The Untold Half 


lain at his heart just as a babe : he had thrilled at its 
smiles as a mother thrills at the smiles of her nursling ; 
watched it grow to full strength and vigour, and open 
up a broad pathway for him with its compelling hands : 
but he was not satisfied, he had not reached the goal of 
fame. In this solitude he would remain until he had 
set the magic seal upon his name indisputably. The 
heaped- up mountains with their dim distances put him 
in the right — they spoke of time, of the majestically 
great that evolved from the infinitely small. 

And the evening and the morning were the first 
day,^’ he quoted, backing his thought of patience. 
‘‘‘And God saw that it was good — happy Creator ! 
he commented, smiling. “ Happy the artist whose 
latest work is his best ! ’ ^ 

There was some exultation and a little sadness in his 
face as he turned his head aside and gave himself up to 
the fascination of the scene. Already misty ideas were 
floating in his brain of a mountain storm and Marvel 
Meredith battling with the elements, barefooted, on a 
rugged track ; and even when he fixed his gaze on the 
changing lights about a snow-peak, the vision came 
with startling vividness, the dark eyes with tragic 
suggestions in their depths, the strong curved mouth 
with its droop of lament. In that clairvoyance which 
is the vision of genius, he distinctly saw the girl stand- 
ing with her face set to the storm, and the despair and 
courage of the young figure fighting its lonely way 


On the Lake 


31 


among enshrouding mist. But the girl had refused to 
be painted. He would wait. Man’s will moulded 
many circumstances. 

Sculling lightly over the waters, the artistic sense 
nourished by the indescribable beauty of his surround- 
ing, success behind him, a feeling of innate power 
prophesying for the future, he sang as he rowed, mer- 
rily as a boy : 

‘‘ A wandering minstrel I, 

A thing of threads and patches. 

Of tattered songs and snatches.*’ 

Into the rhythm of his song there fell the splash of 
oars not his own. A boat approached through the 
purple and white shadows. As it neared, the man was 
startled by the beauty of the oarswoman. Exercise 
had brought out all the colours of Marvel’s face, its 
rose and brown tints, and bronze, and the gold glints 
in hair and eyes. Her sailor suit of dark blue serge 
folded away from the round full throat ; her brown 
dimpled arms were bare to where her sleeves were 
rolled above the elbow. The man’s gaze disconcerted 
her ; surprised, also, after the rebuff of the previous 
evening, and the bosom under the loose sailor’s knot 
rose and fell hurriedly, partly with exertion, and partly 
with the excitement of encounter. 

My mountain maid is splendid,” thought Wynn. 
Yet even while he looked at her with the grateful emo- 
tion of the artist at sight of loveliness, that other picture 


32 


The Untold Half 


conjured by his inner vision a few moments ago crossed 
his mental sight — the cold shadows, the stricken coun- 
tenance. He could not gauge his sensations exactly, 
but he felt almost as though he had hurt her, and 
looked at the fresh young face lingeringly. 

“ Ivike myself you have succumbed to the fascina- 
tions of the morning, ’ ’ he said. 

“ I We been fishing,’' she answered without affecta- 
tion. She looked him full in the eyes, a little resent- 
ment and questioning in her glance. Was he laughing 
at her ? 

He smiled ; her manner suggested no potentialities 
of tragedy. There was a simple force about her, too, 
that pleased him, and, thank Heaven ! she did not 
simper. It was his business to conciliate her, and 
study her expressions. They were varying, as he 
noted. At this moment defiance met his gaze. Ca- 
price, independence, and an irrespctisible and irre- 
pressible individuality hinted themselves. 

With your permission,” he said, ” I will join you, 
if you will take my boat in tow. ’ ’ 

She nodded assent, and a minute later he had taken 
the dividing step, then stooped to examine the fish at 
the bottom of the boat ; not with the sportsman’s in- 
stinct of admiration for their size, but absorbed in 
noting their exquisite sheen. 

Marvel watched, easily plying her oars. Yes, it was 
exactly the same look of admiration he had given her 


On the Lake 


33 


from the coach. She was putting him to a microscopic 
examination, unknown to himself, and her observation 
was keen. She rather lacked the intuitive as a general 
thing ; but this stranger had quickened her faculties, 
and she knew that she and the mountains and the fish 
were much as one to him. 

He looked up suddenly, and realised with some sur- 
prise that he had lost ground. The boat shot through 
the water, as in a sudden spurt Marvel bent to the 
oars. The easy swinging grace of her figure claimed 
his attention, but it wandered off presently to the ruffled 
surface where it caught the breeze. 

The lake, secure in its great loneliness among the 
mountains as it was, had yet been the scene of disaster 
and unwritten story, lake of ‘'the dark influence'’ 
or “ sorrowing heart,” it had been called, and Marvel, 
falling into the traveller’s mood, told what she knew. 
She had a dramatic gift of description, and told a story 
well, and her audience of one saw, as she spoke, both 
personages and their background — men shouldering 
their swags and filing down the gorges ; sitting by 
their camp-fires beside rivers swollen and formidable 
with rain. As she talked she caught Max’s tricks of 
expression, and, seeing that she interested the man, 
who was familiar with many countries, but not with 
this, she threw herself into her subject. They were 
Max’s tales she told ; the clink of the ice-axe, the 
thunder of falling avalanche, the mystery of unfathomed 

3 


34 


The Untold Half 


depths, the excitement of the climber, and the sugges- 
tion of limitless distance got into her words. The 
man was puzzled and surprised ; last night he had 
acquitted her of any strain of poetry or imagination ; 
another stronger individuality than hers took form at 
the back of his mind ; he thought he had the key — she 
was intelligent, she had read. 

Have these things been written ? ” he asked. 

‘‘ No,” she answered sullenly; then added abruptly, 

They have been lived ! ” 

He had dethroned her again, she felt ; he had more 
knowledge, more experience than she ; he read her 
deception. Yet she had not meant to deceive, but 
offering him nothing of herself that had held him, she 
had offered him Max filtered through herself, and Max 
had held him — Max whom she tolerated, if not despised. 
Her performance had been a failure as far as riveting 
attention on herself, but it was artistic, in that it carried 
her audience past her. 

But, man-like, not to be outdone, Wynn set himself 
to the task of entertaining ; and he had not found it 
difficult to charm a company of grand dames. There 
was a piquancy in the position, and with studied care 
he set himself the task of beguiling the girl from her 
wordless resentment. She listened with aloofness 
while he praised her native scenes ; but when he spoke 
of the far-away, she drew her glance from the distance 
and looked at him. Unconscious of the closeness of 


On the Lake 


35 


her scrutiny he warmed to his subject, while his beauty 
warmed her heart. She was listening intently ; and 
she never again heard or read a description of Paris or 
London but she felt the boat springing over the waters 
between the bush-girt shore, and saw the fair hair of 
the man who sat opposite, the delicate arched brows, 
the straight nose, the sensitive mouth and dogged 
chin, and the grey eyes losing their intentness and 
keenness in his introspective mood. 

As he talked her own life dwindled, her horizon 
narrowed ; he had seen everything, been everywhere, 
knew everybody except only this Fiordland that was 
all she ever had seen, and the handful of folk who 
peopled her desert. He took her up and down the 
boulevards, through picture-galleries and Piccadilly ; 
gave her glimpses beyond her experience and feeling, 
opened a door here, showed her this man and that — the 
world of intellect, of men and women who made that 
world. She was silent, humiliated. It was abominable 
to dabble in a puddle of existence when out and away 
was the great sea. The man thought to interest, but 
he tortured ; he floundered and blundered on unwit- 
tingly, following this experience and that, gradually 
disengaging himself from intricacies, till he struck a 
more personal track. He partly forgot his companion, 
though he led to the by-ways of personal experience, 
over the rugged bits of student barrenness, indicating 
mud and dibris here and there. She followed his lead 


36 


The Untold Half 


more closely than he cared to ascertain, for she made 
no sign, except a sudden flush of anger as she realised 
that where she had failed — to interest him personally — 
he held her in thrall. It was the spell of the strong 
magnetism, the force diffused from an energetic mind ; 
and as he struck that note of egotism characteristic of 
one who feels conscious of power, his manner became 
strangely gentle, even while he defied the antago- 
nistic forces that had parted so slowly from his Red 
Sea. He told of repeated failure ; the elevation at a 
little genuine praise ; of the pretension and small 
meanness of mediocre criticism ; of individuals who 
rose for a moment and disappeared for ever. And as 
he talked the picture grew to Marvel of a man solitary 
in a crowd, concentrated among distractions, and amid 
allurement and enchantment faithful to his life's aim. 

When with subdued eagerness and passion he spoke 
of that last aspiration of his — the achievement for which 
he would count no cost, nor any labour or pain — he 
awoke to the fact that he was talking to a woman, and 
bent his eyes on hers in quest of sympathy. The hour, 
the remoteness, the simplicity of nature, had worked 
their spell of sincerity upon him — conventional reticence 
had slipped off like a garment which had no clasp, the 
yearning and indescribable loneliness of genius had him 
in clutch. He asked for understanding from the beau- 
tiful face ; but she was smarting with the futility of her 
wish to chain him, to call him from all he had revealed 


On the Lake 


37 


to the smallness where she was, and when he half rose 
in his eagerness, forgetful of his position, ^ ‘ Sit down ! ’ ' 
she called out sharply. You ’ll upset the boat.” 

He grew cool in an instant. ‘‘ I beg your pardon,” 
he said quietly, and sat with averted eyes. 

The girl had missed her opportunity ; her irritation 
was a cold douche thrown upon the warmth of his rare 
confidence. And she knew it instantly, and felt sud- 
denly bereft, small, insignificant. She watched him 
under her fringed lids moodily. He had paled, and his 
lips were curled in a little scorn. 

‘‘ He ’s sorry he told me ; he thinks I don’t care,” 
she thought. 

A silence fell between them, broken by the oar- 
splashes and the music of cascades. They were near 
the shore, under the shadow of the forest-clad lower 
hills. The girl steered into the shade with the instinct 
to shelter him from the too hot sun-rays. He ac- 
cepted the tribute with a gratified instinct of comfort, 
and examined the fiora of the rocks. To tone down 
the sudden coldness of his manner, he simulated an in- 
terest in the girl’s personal life ; but the pretence did 
not gratify her, and she quickly roused an emotion 
in him that was sincere : one of admiration of her 
honesty. 

‘‘No, I am not wrongly placed,” .she answered to 
some complimentary remark of his, ‘ ‘ and I hate to be 
flattered.” 


38 


The Untold Half 


She was surprised to find how true it was — compli- 
ments had been sweet enough to this hour. I 've no 
story. My father was a cad who skulked and let my 
foster-mother work for him ; then he robbed her and 
ran away ! 

He looked at her hard enough now. There was a 
fine scorn in her manner ; her cheeks crimsoned with 
shame. 

“You love this step-mother ?' ’ queried Wynn, 
marvelling at her candour. 

“ I do not,'' she replied hotly ; “ but she gave my 
father all she had to give, and me home and protection. 
She is the sort of woman who gives always and gets 
nothing in return. I don't think I ever thought about 
it till last night, so you can j udge of my gratitude ! ' ' 
She shrugged her shoulders and laughed derisively. 
“ But since last night I am tortured by the knowledge 
of my debt." 

“ Why since last night ? " he asked. 

“ Oh, I don't know," she replied. “ Something was 
said last night that opened my eyes. One may look at 
a thing for years and never see it. ' ' 

He nodded his comprehension. 

“ And then all at once its details become impressed 
upon the vision." 

“ Just so," he acquiesced. 

“ Well, it was like that ; I was face to face with the 
fact always, but I realised last night." 


On the Lake 


39 


** And what then ? '' 

‘'The Bible says, ‘Owe no man anything.’ The 
man who wrote that meant to be kind.” 

She laughed again, and bent her body to the oars 
upon which she had rested. Her sensitive underlip 
trembled, but Wynn could not catch her glance. 

“You hate to receive,” he said with decision. 

She looked him straight in the eyes now. “ I should 
think I did. So would you if you ’d had as much of it 
as I have. I tell you it ’s crushing. It makes you 
appear a sneak when you ’re no sneak. Obligation 
cuts the wings of ambition. You can’t fly when you 
want, not even when your cage-door is open. It ’s 
your duty to abide by them who gave you sugar and 
seed, and you must abide. The sorrows of those who 
feed you must be your sorrows, though your heart 
does n’t grieve, and their joys yours, though you can’’! 
rejoice. It makes you mealy-mouthed, dependence 
does, when your lips are burning to tell the truth. 
More blessed to give than to receive ? I should think 
it was. If I wanted to punish anybody, I would heap 
benefits upon them they could n’t repay.” 

Her eyes had deepened their hue and flashed their 
protest. 

“ ‘ The meek shall inherit the earth,’ the Bible says,” 
he reminded her. 

“ Six feet of it in the end,” she answered contemptu- 
ously. “ The meek don’t inherit the fruits of it.” 


40 


The Untold Half 


“ Good on your mother- wit, ’ ' he laughed. But 
you are not meek,^’ he added encouragingly. 

“ Meek — I ? She looked at him gloomily, and yet 
with an eagerness that seemed to pierce his real senti- 
ment. No, I am not meek. I could not be. Meek- 
ness and youth don^t seem to touch, somehow. Yet 
perhaps I might be meek if — She broke off sud- 
denly, and rowed hard, as though to dismiss the sub- 
ject. He did not press the question, and she, after her 
surrender, grew cold again. He saw that, like him- 
self, she regretted her confidence, that she had been 
kindled but for the moment, that reserve was her more 
natural mood ; so he did not break the silence till their 
boat touched shore. He busied himself in the fasten- 
ing, humming softly while she collected her fish, then 
asked suddenly : 

‘‘ By the by, who was that playing the violin at 
your cottage last night ? 

Max Hawthorne.'’ 

Indeed ! Max Hawthorne, the explorer of Fiord- 
land ? ” 

He looked at her with surprise and interest. She 
noted the look and the attention in his face ; her quick 
thought anticipated his desire. 

“ If you would care to meet him, I ’ll tell him. He 
is my step-brother.” 

It was a new experience to take a subordinate posi- 
tion in connection with Max, but it was evident she 


On the Lake 


41 


did so in Wynn’s estimation. Max had put her first 
so long that she had regarded the place as hers. She 
turned away humbled. Her companion noted the de- 
jection in her manner, and with an unusual sympathy 
said, as he turned to walk beside her : 

Thank you for your company this morning, and 
don’t think of me as altogether self-absorbed and selfish, 
although it is true that I am dear to myself in that I 
have a purpose which I must accomplish. And I 
would n’t feel like that about receiving if I were you. 
We all of us do it in one form or another, you know. 
We ’re none of us unfettered from obligation, although 
it does n’t always take the same form. Life would be 
a mechanical business if we were. We can’t stand 
apart without connection. The giving is n’t all on one 
side ; the recipient to-day is the bestower to-morrow — 
if not materially, in other ways. / am in your debt 
already. You are giving form to a fleeting imagina- 
tion.” 




CHAPTER IV 


THE) strong man 



HEN Marvel re-entered the little kitchen of the 


cottage she felt as though she had been away 


a great time, and had learned many things in the inter- 
val. The simple familiar room had a new interest. 
The whitewashed walls, the onions and hams hanging 
from the beams, the tidy dresser with its brown delft, 
pleased her. They had in part lost insignificance. 
Wynn’s words, ‘‘ I am in your debt already,” had put 
her in love with living. They had struck a chord in 
her generous nature that no gift could have done. 
Whether by accident or design, the man had pleased 
her mightily. It was bitterness, gall and wormwood, 
the realisation that her father was a thief, and that 
she herself had so far imitated him as to take without 
gratitude. Wynn had dropped the branch of sweetness 
into her Marah. 

She dressed the fish deftly. She had been trained to 
industry, and the energy of her nature found vent in 


43 


The Strong Man 

action. Indolence and weariness were alike unknown ; 
her splendid strength made labour a necessity, and the 
exercise of her household art consoled her ; and al- 
though not aware that her own craft was skilled, she 
did thoroughly and largely all that she did. But while 
her fingers were busy her eyes wandered over the lake. 
At high fiood, or storm, the waters lashed the strong 
steps leading to the porch of the kitchen ; but now 
Max’s boat was fastened to the rough post, and lay 
high and dry on the shingle. Marvel’s eyes rested on 
it for a moment with a new sight. Those dark wild 
nights its owner had penetrated among the dangers 
had fresh interest since the stranger had listened to 
their story. 

The gravel crunched, the steps creaked, and a tall 
figure shut off the light in the doorway. There was 
a soft look in the girl’s face as she turned it in greet- 
ing. Max saw it and paused interrogatively, his own 
expression lighting to receive her communication. But 
the words that were on her tongue seemed difficult to 
speak, and instead of mentioning Wynn Winter’s 
name she made a trifling communication, and their 
simple meal was at an end before she had braced 
herself. 

‘‘ The man who came by coach last night is a great 
artist,” she said casually, and with an assumption of 
indifference. Her newly awakened passion was mak- 
ing her self-conscious. She met the steady gaze 


44 


The Untold Half 


of the grey eyes lifted to observe her with a half- 
apologetic look new to Max. Something in her manner 
pleaded. 

‘‘ Ah ! he told you/* Max affirmed. He knew the 
freemasonry of Marvel. Of course they had been talk- 
ing ; she was already under the spell of this new per- 
sonality from a city. Not a muscle of his face moved. 
He made confidence difficult. But it was not Marvel’s 
way to deceive. 

He did not tell me he was great. I guessed that.” 

“ Oh ! ” 

This was not encouraging. With a flash of petulance 
that lit her eyes and coloured her face, ‘‘ Yes,” she as- 
serted, “ I am sure of it.” 

‘ ‘ What do you know of greatness ? ’ ’ asked the man, 
with some surprise. 

The girl looked at him deliberately ; seeing question, 
not derision, in his face, resting her rounded elbows on 
the table and leaning her chin upon her hands, she 
answered him : 

“ I don’t know much about it. You might well ask. 
This time yesterday I had n’t thought anything about 
it at all.” 

This time yesterday she had not met the stranger. 
The unquelled savagery in Max rose to the surface, 
but he kept himself in bonds, remembering his mother’s 
warning. 

‘‘ But to-day — what do you know of it to-day ? ” he 


The Strong Man 


45 


asked, a sore feeling that she had been making dis- 
coveries deepening his discomfiture. 

It seems great, does n’t it,” she answered, to 
spend a life trying for one thing ? — denying oneself 
all that goes to make a day pleasant, so that in the 
evening one’s work may be a little better done than it 
was yesterday ? ’ ’ 

There was a yearning and appreciation in her tones 
that surprised him. 

I did n’t think you understood,” he said shortly. 
The girl’s words stuck. Were they a temptation, a 
punishment, or a reproach ? Should he throw all ob- 
stacles from his path and follow the voice of his music 
wherever it might lead ? If he had had the courage to 
do so long ago might he not now have had something 
to show ? Perhaps he had been a coward. ‘ ‘ Every 
man has n’t the opportunity ; circumstances strip him 
of his chance,” he said sombrely. He spoke with a 
lump in his throat, and Marvel, who had been lost in 
reverie, came back with a start, and a new thought to 
torment and humiliate her. For a moment she was 
stunned, for until Wynn Winter had suggested the 
thought she had not regarded Max in the light of an 
undeveloped genius. How cheaply she had held him ! 
She put out her hand and touched his. 

‘‘ Max,” she asked fearfully, did my father strip 
you of your chance ? ’ ’ 

He heard the fear in her subdued tones and saw it in 


46 


The Untold Hal-f 


her eyes ; his chivalry rose. Her touch consoled him. 
What was anything compared with her ? She had been 
a reality in his life, all that lit its sombreness. 

‘‘ Nonsense ! he answered, moodiness vanishing 
from face and voice ; music tugged one way, the 
mountains another — the mountains had it. Sometimes 
I have been tempted to abandon work and waste my 
years, that ’s all.” 

He went out, whistling as he went, but only till the 
sound would not carry to the cottage ; then he fell into 
reverie as he strode along. He had gone farther than 
he knew when the sound of falling water roused him. 
He lifted his head with a jerk, and at the foot of a 
miniature fall, seated on a slab of rock just out of reach 
of the spray, was Wynn Winter. 

‘ ‘ The very man I wanted to meet ! ” he said heartily, 
springing to his feet and holding out his hand. Before 
Max was sure whether he wanted to take it or not, or 
fling a cold denial of comradeship in this man’s face, 
he found the grey intent eyes and cynical mouth of the 
artist had softened, and that Wynn had said some very 
cordial things. Max was perplexed how to carry out 
his resolution to have no friendly relations with this 
man ; he had pondered it on his walk. He was pain- 
fully anxious, without appearing a churl, to intimate 
by his manner that he wished to break free ; and he 
stood awkwardly, while Wynn talked easily, making 
brusque replies. The disquiet in the eyes, and the 


The Strong Man 47 

strong patience of the gigantic figure did not escape 
Wynn. 

'' By the I^ord Harry ! ’’ he commented mentally, 

these people are more difficult to know than the lions 
of a London season. What ’s fame after all ? ‘A rose 
by any other name would smell as sweet ’ here as 
Wynn Winter ! ” But while he thought, he was com- 
bating the antagonism of Max by that personal charm 
of manner which, like an opposing force, defied oppo- 
sition. 

‘‘ Sit down, man,^' he said at length. You make 
me ache to look at you. The works of the Lord are 
great in this corner of the universe ! I feel a pigmy in 
comparison ! ’' 

Max sat down, and in the act, although he was not 
aware of the fact, partly surrendered his will. He 
threw himself into an easy position on the tussock grass 
growing between and about the boulders. But Wynn 
noted that the look of strength did not leave him 
even in repose ; he had a likeness to a splendid wild 
animal, ready in a moment to spring into action. The 
sinews stood out on his hands and wrists as his arms 
were folded across his broad chest. The lines in the 
weather-beaten face had relaxed ever so little, and the 
painter found himself speculating on the possibilities 
of figure and face in moments of intense passion or 
action — the very strong man Kwasind ! ” quoted 
Wynn smilingly. Then in answer to the interrogation 


48 


The Untold Half 


in Max’s eyes he told the legend, and while Wynn 
talked he watched the trouble in the grey eyes lighten, 
and the blood creep up under the tanned skin. Great 
physical strength had a strange fascination for the man 
of culture, and there was honest admiration in his man- 
ner as he concluded : 

‘‘ I find myself in the position of the old man, who, 
following a narrow pass, led onward by a brooklet in 
the trail of deer and bison, discovers all further passage 
securely barred by ‘ trunks of trees uprooted, lying 
crosswise, and forbidding further passage.’ ' We must 
go back,’ said the old man. ‘ O’er these logs we can- 
not clamber. Not a woodchuck could get through 
them ; not a squirrel clamber o’er them.’ I must sit 
down and light my pipe like him,” Wynn continued, 
laughing, and smoke and ponder ” — he looked mean- 
ingly towards the towering forest and heights — “ un- 
less a Kwasind come to my assistance. 

‘‘ ‘ Lo ! the path was cleared before him. 

All the trunks had Kwasind lifted 
To the right hand, to the left hand, 

Shot the pine trees swift as arrows. 

Hurled the cedars light as lances.’ ” 

Max laughed. ‘‘ I don’t know that the Government 
would thank me for working that havoc,” he answered, 
but we ’ll go over if you like.” 

To the Southerland Falls ? ” 

Max nodded. 


The Strong Man 


49 


Good. Over M’Kinnon’s Pass ? ” 

Max gave another affirmative nod. 

“ It ’s a bargain/' agreed Wynn. In later years he 
asked himself if he had known all that M’Kinnon’s 
Pass would stand for in his history whether he would 
have gone. And he could never answer ; not even 
when his life was torn away from its deep foundations, 
for the glamour, not of the mountains only, had him in 
thrall. He turned his head to get a better sight of the 
gleaming snow-peaks, watched the mist coming down 
from the glaciers, then drew in his glance to the cas- 
cade near at hand, scooping a basin out of solid rock, 
issuing forth again in silver curve, to bubble and swirl 
in whirlpools in the rapids ; over great boulders of 
granite, fallen giants of the forest, and masses of flora 
and fern. 

The shadows had fallen restfully on the vaporous 
nook where the two men idled ; they had passed their 
supreme moment when a definite rejection of each other 
seemed best, they felt a curious attraction each for the 
other. If Max had any pride in his own physical 
strength, it was a melancholy pride ; the mental force 
of his companion was of greater significance in his eyes. 
They were neither of them at their best, each feeling 
the other's opposing strength. Max, with his arms 
folded on his chest, and his massive head thrown back, 
began to talk. Wynn had led him to a subject he had 
at heart, and while his clear grey eyes were fixed upon 


50 


The Untold Half 


the other eyes, both felt subtly that neither would be 
capable of petty meanness. One man, with his un- 
governable temper in times of stress, had yet many 
illusions and much credulity ; the other was quicker to 
see, keener to know, less self-giving, but still strong to 
endure. They both had an impression that the other 
was not lightly to be put aside, and as the two resolute 
young faces turned to each other, each man was think- 
ing in his own way about the other. Max decided that 
his companion was not the common mediocre sort of 
fellow whose own performance blocked his vision to 
that of other men. Wynn was leaning forward a little 
in a naturally graceful attitude, with his delicate hands 
clasped round one knee ; less in strength than the long- 
limbed man who entertained him, without any striving 
for art, but dramatically. But Wynn looked more 
alert. There was a soft vibration in the air, of water 
murmuring, a sense of nature’s sufficiency unto itself ; 
a supernal calm that was not easily disturbed, that 
affected each strongly in different ways. 

' ‘ Has it never occurred to you that you may have 
mistaken your calling ? ” asked Wynn at length, when 
Max had come to the end of his story. 

The young explorer’s eyes grew sad and gloomy. 

‘ ‘ I heard you play last night, ’ ’ explained the artist. 
There was meaning in his ringing tones of appreciation. 
He did not know that he had probed a wound. He 
took it a little too much for granted that the man before 


The Strong Man 


51 


him had not realised his own gift. There was a ques- 
tion in Max’s face that asked Wynn to explain. 

‘ ‘ The artist has a consciousness of his own — an im- 
perishable soul — but it concerns him and the world to 
discover it. It is an uncommon thing to find a man 
ignorant of his own gift, for genius is insistent, egotistic 
— ‘ I am the great I am ’ spirit.” 

“You mean, do I know that I can play the fiddle ? ” 
asked Max. 

“Just so.” 

“ Well, I do know I can. But how much or how 
little I have no means of judging, for I never heard 
one of the best play.” 

“There ’s one in Dunedin now — one of London’s 
‘ stars.’ ” 

A silence fell between the two men for a moment, 
then Wynn told what he knew of the violinist. 

It was a tale of labour and triumph that dazed Max’s 
imagination ; the ^rrowness of present conditions 
seemed to close in on him. 

“ The life of art,” concluded Wynn, “ is a perpetual 
struggle and a perpetual hope. Its fascination lies in 
the fact that genius can never correctly gauge its own 
possibilities, and the artist is as frequently surprised at 
his own performance as the world is ; his own individ- 
uality does not bind his horizon — it seems to extend as 
he advances. He is a slave, of course, bound hand and 
foot by the demands of his art ; and yet he is freer 


52 


The Untold Half 


than other men because he carries his world with him, 
and is not dependent upon outside sources for the 
dignity and happiness of his life.” 

He smiled contentedly, no sarcasm on his lips. Max 
noted the softness, the triumphant note in the voice, 
that was so real in spite of its sweetness, and his spon- 
taneity froze. That crushing sense of having been 
cheated overwhelmed him again, and he strode beside 
his companion silently till their ways diverged, then 
climbed till the lake lay like a jewel below. It was a 
kind of Calvary, that hill to him, and his cross was 
heavy all the way. Not till he had reached an altitude 
where the air was rare did he pause. He stood on a 
projecting ledge, leaning upon his stick, a solitary 
figure among the marvels of nature, space beneath and 
above. But he was too much encumbered, too occupied 
fighting a human battle, to be ravished or dazzled by 
what spread before him. The mists unfolded and 
wrapped him round, crept down the shoulders of the 
mountains and spread over the valley, rolled back again, 
lifted, changed from orange to purple, faded from helio- 
trope to grey, before he roused. And then he descended 
with the look of a man who has made up his mind. 

Mother,” he said later, when he sat beside her, 

I 'm going to the city — to Dunedin.” 

‘‘ To Dunedin ! ” exclaimed Marvel, who was in the 
room, and who became alert in a moment, all her latent 
curiosity looking out of her dark eyes. 


The Strong Man 


53 


Mary Meredith, who had as few words as her son, 
waited for explanations. None were forthcoming how- 
ever. 

‘ ‘ Anything I can do for you ? I go to-morrow 
morning.” 

The woman searched the bronzed face, but its ex- 
pression was calm. The tender mouth had the faintest 
shadow of a smile ; the steady eyes were looking at 
something afar off — a dream, perhaps. 

“ There ’s nothing amiss ? ” more affirmed the wo- 
man than queried. 

Max turned from his vision and met her gaze. He 
spread out his hand — large and sun-browned, but with 
curiously lissom and long fingers — and rested it for a 
moment upon the patient hands on the coverlid. 

“ Nothing — not a thing,” he declared. And then 
she knew there was by his insistence, but something 
that concerned himself alone. 

Marvel stood beside Max on the veranda next morn- 
ing, waiting for the coach. The dew was yet upon 
the jasmine and honeysuckle, and all the air was 
scented. The girl broke off a sprig of honeysuckle 
and fastened it in his coat, her eyes dwelling on his tall 
figure — clad on this occasion in a well-fitting suit of 
blue serge. Her face expressed approval, and a little 
pat here, and adjustment there, thrilled him with pas- 
sionate longing. “ Oh, if — ! ” Even in his thought 
he did not finish the sentence ; it held so much. 


54 


The Untold Half 


With surprise the girl noted that he was taking 
nothing with him except a Gladstone bag and his 
violin. Usually he was full of affairs on these rare 
trips, but to-day he was self-centred, and looked like a 
man with one thought. She also had been wont to 
make requests and complain that she must be left be- 
hind. This morning she had contentedly speeded his 
departure. At the last moment she laid her hand upon 
his arm and said in a tone of entreaty : 

DonT bring me anything. Max, please don’t ; I 
have all that I need. ’ ’ 

She watched the coach depart, then prepared Mary 
Meredith’s breakfast and took it in. 

The woman ate and drank, then asked : ‘‘ What did 
Max take with him ? ” 

Only his violin,” answered Marvel airily. 




CHAPTER V 

WIDE) awak:^’’ 

O NLY his violin ! Max hugged it to his side 
through all that journey, and its nearness, 
linked to his new hope, opened his eyes like love of a 
mistress. His back was turned to the mountains ; he 
felt their might, but he would not turn back to look. 
Their wild splendour had shadowed him all his youth, 
chained him, and he, who but a few hours ago had 
upbraided a girl because she wearied of inanimate ob- 
jects, was a prey to the same impulse — the desire of 
escape. But for her sake ; always for her sake. He 
saw the promised land before him this morning, and all 
the trivialities and incidents of the way were interest- 
ing. The balmy softness of the air, the breath of pine 
and beech revived him anew. He noted the shrubs 
with their summer garniture of blossom, the dark 
patches of bush, white as from a light fall of snow 
where the clematis had blossomed. They climbed the 
hill slowly, leaving the witchery of Manapouri behind, 
55 


56 


The Untold Half 


and the solitary bee-farms flew backward. Then came 
a sweep of downs, and a touch of home-life in the Cadet 
Station, lying securely back from the road. People 
from the station were standing about in their blue and 
red shirts, and an old man, seated on a box in a rough 
cart, had driven in with tourists’ letters. But the 
figures receded, and there came the toilsome “ wilder- 
ness,” a rocky plateau, with no vegetation exdept the 
chickweed that forced its way between the grey slabs ; 
then the excitement of fording the river in high flood, 
and there on the bank stood the Wilderness Inn, where 
Mary Meredith had worked and loved and renounced. 
It had fallen into decay, its windows were broken, the 
doors hung by a hinge. Max set his mouth, and drew 
a deep breath. It was peopled to him in a moment. 
He saw his mother’s neat sombre flgure standing in the 
doorway, a light of welcome in her face, with a lovely 
child tugging at her skirts and a handsome man beside 
her. The ghost of his past boyhood looked out of the win- 
dow. But with a change of horses they were ofif again. 
The afternoon was late when the coach was changed 
for train, and when Max stepped from it it was evening. 

Dunedin, the Edinburgh of the South, nestled be- 
tween mountain and bay, bespangled with the golden 
stars of its lighted lamps. You could trace the tortuous 
streets and raised terraces by their fringe of light ; the 
dark spires and domes of its churches and universities 
were discernible with their background of bush against 


Very Wide Awake ” 57 

the heliotrope and saffron of the evening sky, warm yet 
from the sunset, and twinkling with stars. 

Max wandered through Prince's Street, his heart 
throbbing with the excitement of a crowd and its secret 
hope. He jostled men and women as he went who 
turned to look at him. Now in shadow, now passing 
through a lighted space, he walked steadily on and 
turned the corner of High Street. In the portico and 
on the pavement in front of the Grand Hotel men stood 
in groups, but all turned to look at the gigantic figure 
that strode easily up the steep ascent. He paused to 
let a cable-tram pass, then crossed to the Princess 
Theatre, where the great violinist was to play. It was 
only at the theatre door he remembered that he still 
carried his violin-case and bag, and seeing an hotel a 
few paces farther, left them, engaged a room for the 
night, and returned. He took a ticket for the stalls 
and made his way through the crowded building in the 
same preoccupied fashion that he had walked the 
streets. The stares of the fashionably dressed audience 
were lost upon him. In his normal state he would 
have been self-conscious and embarrassed ; but he had 
come to discover one thing — how much or how little 
he could do, and to gain this ki owledge by comparison. 
If it were possible for him to attain to greatness, the 
love of Marvel might be his. 

His seat was an end one, at the bottom of a row of 
well-dressed men and women, A girl sat next him. 


58 


The Untold Half 


one of a party who exchanged covert looks and smiles 
as Max sat down. The girl smiled also, then turned 
to look at him again. He felt her magnetism subtly, 
as he breathed the fragrance of the roses she wore, 
though unconscious of her individual proximity — the 
nearness, the feel of woman was the spirit of that one 
woman who made his world, and presently he was be- 
yond that even, and for the first time in his life the 
want that had always ached in him was absolutely 
satisfied. The violinist had bent his chin upon his in- 
strument and began to play. Max quivered, and bent 
his head humbly, devoutly, his stout stick straining 
under the pressure of his hands. A little while and he 
lifted his head again, his whole figure recovering from 
its dejection to dignity. It was the latent genius in 
him rising above vulgar envy to rejoice and glory in 
the expression of its highest conception. Self was sub- 
ordinate to this witchery of sound ; he was emancipated 
from the platitudes of personal happiness or success, 
and in his approximation to the highest his mind be- 
came part of it, one with it. Time, thought, sense, was 
blotted out; all the harmonies of the heaven above, the 
earth beneath, and the waters under the earth were 
around and in him. He forgot the musician and be- 
came part of the music. The silence wakened him. 
He looked round dazedly. For the first time he saw 
the girl beside him. She was looking at him intently, 
her sweet eyes full of tears, 


“ Very Wide Awake 59 

“ Good-nigtit,’' said Max, with the spontaneous 
civility of his mountain home. 

Good-night,” she responded softly, and surrepti- 
tiously held out her roses. 

He took them and went out. '^'n the early morning 
he called at his hotel for the bag and violin. 

Are you sure,” asked Mary Meredith again that 
day, “ that Max took nothing but his violin ? ” 

Nothing, except his brush and comb and things for 
the night,” answered Marvel. 

“ Did he say why he was going, and how long he ^d 
be gone ? ’ ^ 

” Not a word.” 

‘‘ And you did n’t think to ask — he ’d have told 
you,” said her step-mother with some impatience. 

“ I did think,” answered the girl with unusual 
gentleness. “ But Max is difficult to question, and 
answers are not always easy. It is n’t quite fair to ex- 
pect a reason always for what another does. ’ ’ 

The woman looked at her with some surprise as she 
bustled about the room briskly yet lightly. Some- 
thing in Marvel’s gentleness and desire to please struck 
the elder woman. 

'' What ’s come over you ? ” she asked suddenly. 

“Over The girl was arranging flowers in a vase. 

She placed it on atable at thebedside,turning the choicest 
blossoms where the invalid’s eyes could fall upon them. 


6o 


The Untold Half 


Over me ? she repeated with a different emphasis. 

I don't think anything has particularly — except, per- 
haps, that I 've been thinking." 

“Thinking of what?" 

“ Of you — and Max — and " — Marvel’s voice faltered, 
the colour rose high in her cheeks — “ all sorts of 
things." 

A faint reflection of the girl’s bloom stole into the 
pale face on the pillow, the light of the brown eyes re- 
flected itself in the eyes that had looked out on life so 
long, hopelessly. She was rewarded for much in those 
words, “ thinking of you and Max." The “ all sorts 
of things " went for little. 

“ And what of me, child ? ’’ 

Marvel’s mouth trembled. “ I wish someone could 
make you well ; it must be awful — all the bright days, 
too, as well as the long night ! ’’ 

Her step-mother understood the incoherent words. 
They were new sweetness to her. 

“ I don’t suffer," she answered quietly, looking 
through the window. 

“You must — in mind," answered Marvel passion- 
ately. “ I should be wicked if it were me." 

The faded face turned towards the young face work- 
ing rebelliously. 

“ I don’t know," she said contemplatively ; “ the 
spirited horse goes far when once it submits to har- 


ness. 


Very Wide Awake 


6i 


Every speck of dust had been removed from the 
room before Mary Meredith spoke again. Then it was 
to ask a question. 

'' Do you remember your mother, Marvel ? 

The words were jerked out as though difficult to 
expel. How often and how jealously the deserted 
wife had thought about that dead first wife, Marvel 
knew instantly by the fact that the self-contained wo- 
man on the bed had brought herself to ask. In her 
new understanding she was gentle. 

‘‘ No,^’ she answered; he never spoke of her, and 
I have no recollection of a mother except you. ' ^ 

Mary Meredith said no more. She offered no caress, 
and closed her eyes while Marvel stitched beside her. 
But she showed that she noted later. 

‘‘ Now run away. It is n't nature for a young girl 
to sit still all day — get out-of-doors. ' ’ 

And Marvel went out and met Wynn. 

‘ ‘ I have been looking for your step-brother all the 
morning," he said, and the glow died from the girl’s 
eyes and face. 

He ’s away in town," she answered, glad to deny 
him. You ’ll have to postpone your meeting." 

'‘We did meet, yesterday," he replied ; " did n’t he 
mention it ? ’ ’ 

" Not a word." 

Wynn was puzzled at her manner. 

" He ’s a fine fellow — a genius in embryo." 


62 


The Untold Half 


‘‘ The world don’t count its unhatched chickens,” 
she retorted. 

** True,” he laughed, looking at her curiously, 
amused, yet not able to guess how he had offended. 

Our friendship does n’t advance,” he thought ; it ’s 
a beginning all over again — those sittings are among 
the unhatched chickens, I ’m afraid.” 

But he began at the beginning again, carefully 
avoiding any talk of himself or his work, studying the 
expressive face beside him softening, melting, glowing. 
As he talked, Marvel forgot her coldness and the abyss 
of temperament and estate that yawned between them. 
And Wynn grew interested in the Beach Cottage 
affairs ; so much so that he drew a reluctant permission 
from Marvel to visit Mrs. Meredith. 

Early in the evening of Max’s return he sat beside 
the woman’s bed. She, like the others, had resented 
his first approach, but he overcame her prejudice by 
his distinguished manners and personal charm, and 
the unaffected admiration of the young explorer’s feats. 
While Wynn told her of Max’s name reaching him in 
different parts of the islands her eyes grew like live 
coals, but when he referred to his musical talent she 
stopped him with an imperious gesture. 

'' What ’s that to do with you ? ” she said in low, 
intense tones. How do you know what might or 
might not have been ? It is n’t easy to understand 
why he has let his gift lie fallow ? No, it is n’t easy 


“ Very Wide Awake 


63 


to understand other people’s lives. Knowledge don’t 
always give wisdom; if it did, the cleverest among you 
would step softest for fear of hurting, an’ speak seldom 
for want of the right word. I see what ’s happened 
now ! ” she continued, still in the same desperate, in- 
tense, subdued tones. You ’ve talked to him of name 
an’ fame an’ impossible things, till he ’s took the fever. 
Fool ! You ’ve sent him away to get his heart broke, 
that ’s what your talk has done. Could n’t you leave 
us in peace ? ” 

Wynn had risen, his face flushed, his bearing 
haughty, at loss for the key. His mouth had taken 
its cynical curve, but he stood in courteous silence till 
the bitter, hot, reckless words had ceased. A sound 
of wheels broke in upon the awkward, strained, pain- 
ful scene. They stopped, and the Maori’s refrain, 

' T was mother^ s little pickaninny wafted into the 
room. Then Marvel’s voice, “ Ah, Max! ” Then Max 
to the driver heartily, Good-night I ” then in a softer 
tone to the girl, It ’s something blue,” and I asked 
you not"' in protest from the girl ; then the footsteps 
approached, and Max towered in the doorway. 

Mary Meredith and Wynn looked at him with ques- 
tion in their eyes; Wynn with trouble. Max answered 
their looks with quiet glances. His face was pale, and 
his mouth gentle. He carried his violin-case in one 
hand and a small parcel in the other. Laying the 
parcel on his mother’s bed he crossed to the corner 


64 


The Untold Half 


by the window, and rested the music case against the 
wall. 

He stood for a moment with his back to the room, 
then turned, smiling. I ’m glad you got com- 
pany, mother. I ’m ready for Milford Sound, Mr. 
Winter, any time that you are.'’ 

Queer folk,” commented Wynn, as he strolled to 
watch the effect of the moon rising over the peaks ; 
‘ * quite primitive in their candour. How the old wo- 
man’s eyes gleamed ! She ’s mad for a certainty, 
mad with selfishness, afraid that poor fellow will leave 
her to try his wings. Destiny seems to have assigned 
me quite a disagreeable rSle just here. The candid 
critic puts his foot in it ! ” 

He laughed softly, but looked perturbed. * ‘ I wonder 
if he ’ll ever speak of it ? There were self- surrender 
and self-restraint in that look.” 

But the moon rose and he stood entranced. By and 
by Max, who leant with folded arms on his window, 
heard the snatch of a song : 

“ We ^re very wide awake, the moon and 

“ Ay,” he murmured slowly, ” and I too — wide 
awake.” 



CHAPTER VI 

RKFUSAI, 

'' T ’M sorry to offend you, Mr. Winter, but I canT 

1 sit to you.’’ 

Marvel’s face was flushed, but in spite of the deter- 
mination in her voice there was wistfulness in her eyes. 
She felt a mysterious, almost a yearning sense of pain 
at her own refusal, that surprised her. She had antici- 
pated a little triumph, for it aggravated her to know 
how easily this man made his will appear desirable, 
even to Max, who, until the past few weeks, had been 
led by none save herself. And there was another 
jealousy, deeper. She would not lend herself to the 
fame that claimed first thought. 

Wynn had taken shelter at the cottage from a sudden 
summer downpour, and stood just at the top of the 
kitchen steps under cover of the porch. As he and 
the girl had stood together watching the rain-cloud 
sweep over the water, he had taken advantage of a 
softness in her manner, and put the request which had 
gained in importance in his estimate. 


66 


The Untold Half 


You have the prerogative of refusal/* he said 
coldly. His lips tightened, and his face paled a little 
with vexation. He hated to be baulked, and his 
picture was burning in his brain. Was a mere girl to 
stand between him and his accomplishment ? It was 
late in the day to meet with opposition. He threw a 
sidelong glance where she stood in chilling indiffer- 
ence to his appeal, leaning, it seemed to him, nonchal- 
antly against the door-frame. She threw back her 
head. 

And I do refuse. I ’ve got my reasons. I can 
have them, I suppose ? * * 

Yes, yes,’* he answered impatiently, of course, 
but I feel sure I could explain them away, if you would 
but express them. I am not the least disrespectful, 
really,” he added, with a change of tone ; ” but you 
are so unlike other girls. You resent as an imperti- 
nence what is intended as an honour.” 

She shrugged her shoulders. 

Tell me,” he urged, ” what are your reasons ? ” 

How could she say to him, ” If you loved me I 
should be your tool, but I will not be an aid to that art 
which divides us, nor help the fame that will be your 
gift to another woman ’ ’ ? She coloured furiously 
over face and neck, looking disturbed and con- 
scious. 

‘‘ Because — ” She faltered and stopped. Her 

eyes grew luminous, lips tremulous. He might have 


Refusal 


67 


guessed if he had not regarded her so long entirely as 
a work of art. The lights and shades in her face 
attracted him as the changing light of the sky. 

A woman's reason, entirely convincing ! " he inter- 
jected sarcastically, losing patience and tact. 

Well, then," she jerked out, if you will have it 
you shall ! What does your life matter to me ? Why 
should I be expected to interest myself in it ? I am 
not flattered and humble because you tell me I am 
beautiful. I knew that before you came. But a girl’s 
beauty, I take it, belongs first to herself, and then to 
her husband. I might marry a man one day who 
would n’t be pleased to have me admired — even in 
Wynn Winter’s picture ! ’’ 

She could have killed herself when she had said it. 
She felt like a Samson who had drawn a temple about 
her own ears. She had used her strength against him. 
It had been in her power to bind him to her by cords 
of gratitude, to serve him and win his esteem. But 
the cold cup of his esteem ! She would not accept it, 
though she went thirsty all her days. Through the 
singing in her ears she heard his voice again, with 
emphatic emphasis. 

“ No, don’t say that — don’t refuse me! If your ex- 
perience of the world were greater, and the living forces 
that make that world, I could make you understand. 
Your reserve is very beautiful, of course; I respect you 
for it, but at the same time ’’ 


68 


The Untold Half 


*‘At the same time you want me to forego it for 
your sake ! ^ ’ 

She was conscious that he had drawn nearer, that 
his eyes were pleading with hers. He laid his hand 
involuntarily upon her arm, and the action, although 
it thrilled her, pushed her from him, for she felt in- 
stinctively that the familiarity would not have been 
permitted by one of his own class. She shook it off. 

Won’t you regard me as your friend ? ” he asked, 
battling with the impulse to walk off and leave her 
to the undisturbed enjoyment of her own mood ; an- 
other feeling pushing through his vexation — the wish 
to tame this proud untaught thing, tame her to his 
desire. He checked his perturbation by the reflec- 
tion that she was excluded from civilisation, that she 
measured according to her narrow environment. Pos- 
sibly the natives of these wilds had codes of moral- 
ity he could not gauge, exaggerated ideas of modesty. 
The girl might honestly fear the judgment of the Mrs. 
Grundy of these parts. He knew her intimately 
enough to be sure she did not pose. She looked 
proud ; her face and manner were instinct with genuine 
emotion. He had offended against some inflated notion 
of decorum, that was it. Her troubled eyes and trem- 
bling hands assured him of her genuineness from her 
point of view ; he saw her wish to be generous by the 
pain she evidently suffered in refusal, and changed his 
tactics and blundered on. 


Refusal 


69 


“ When we were chatting on the lake that morning 
— do you remember ? — do you know what struck me 
most forcibly in regard to you ? ’ ’ 

His manner had changed to a gentle persuasiveness 
Marvel could not resist. Something in connection with 
herself had lingered in his memory. 

“ What ? ” she asked. 

“ The generosity of your nature. You seemed to 
desire more than anything an opportunity of bestowal 
— No, don’t interrupt,” he added quickly, as he noted 
her movement of dissent. ‘ ‘ I ask your pardon humbly 
for anything I have said that may have hurt your feel- 
ings — offence was unintentional. I am sorry that our 
friendship should hold misunderstanding, because I 
have very earnestly desired to please you ! ’ ’ 

His words were coming quickly now ; his keen grey 
eyes were softening; and as he stood a step beneath 
her, one foot upraised on a higher level, his hand rest- 
ing on the rough w^et railing, raindrops falling on his 
hair. Marvel was moved by his unconsciousness of sur- 
rounding things in the earnestness of the moment. 

I have a favour to ask,” he proceeded, uncovering 
his head, a very great favour, doubly great since you 
are so reluctant to grant it. You know to what I refer. 
In that first morning of our acquaintance I conceived 
a picture with you for the central figure. I would 
barter a good deal to paint it. But I cannot paint it 
unless you consent. Will you ? Do'' 


70 


The Untold Half 


He laid his hand gently upon hers, thrilling her in 
every nerve by the magnetism of his touch and the 
tones of his voice. The last word lingered in her ears, 
coiling itself about her heart. His eyes held hers. She 
was not insensible, but passionately alive to every 
shade of emotion that he expressed ; she felt as one 
without power to lift hand or foot, watching a scene 
enacted before her eyes ! And all the time her brain 
was thinking how she would feel were he pleading for 
love's sake, not art. She saw him as he would look 
when he told that other woman of his love. How the 
proud face could soften, the eyes beam ! Her bosom 
rose and fell with deep breaths. A short lifetime was 
condensed in the moments to both. Both were in 
deadly earnest, he to break, she to stand. It was a 
war of wills, and in the zest of battle he would have for- 
gotten the cause, or disregarded it, so only he played a 
winning game. 

She withdrew her hand, not trusting herself with 
those strong light fingers clasping hers. The action 
indicated that she still opposed. 

It was a new and strange thing for a man of his posi- 
tion and calibre to sue so abjectly. He flushed crimson 
with this sense of lowered importance. He must rein- 
state himself ; this sullen, soulless child had got to give 
way. It was ridiculous to suppose that she should 
mock intellectuality by mere brute force. He gathered 
himself together for another attack. He sketched with 


Refusal 


71 


imagination and warmth the joy with which he would 
labour ; the final scene of his triumph, the Academy, 
and the beautiful girl beside him looking down from 
his picture on the admiring crowd ; his gratitude and 
lifelong obligation. She saw the outcome only too 
vividly. All this was apart from her life. 

My looks, such as I have, are my own,” she said. 

‘‘You are ungenerous. I have been mistaken,” he 
said coldly. 

The rain had cleared, and the scent of newly watered 
earth and eglantine was sweet in the air ; the soaked 
creepers were lifting their sodden heads and shaking 
off a shower of drops ; the birds were calling from the 
bush, and fantastic vapours unwreathing to show the 
sun-toiiched hills. This little corner of the earth was 
born again to light and sweetness. But it seemed to 
the girl, standing with hanging arms, and eyes staring 
dully over the lake, that no new day could ever come 
to her. Ungenerous ? Yes, she could not but answer 
yes. She had a gift to bestow, the only gift she had, 
and she had refused it to the man she loved, because 
she could not participate in the reward ; sent him away 
with curled lip and haughty eyes. Well, why not, 
why not ? She was nothing to him ! If she could 
have gone into his triumph with him — ah! then there 
was nothing she would not attain. If as his friend she 
could hold him and serve him, for his sake even, al- 
though she was nothing in his life, for his sake alone 


72 


The Untold Half 


she could forego — could be generous to the death — but 
not for that other woman at whose smile he would one 
day bow, for whose sake he would rejoice at all he had 
overcome. 

She stood at the door for a long time, largely battling 
with her small grief, feeling it great. The effulgence 
of the sunlight fell around her unnoticed ; human pas- 
sion made the joy and recovered peace of nature oppress- 
ive. The girl felt remote, alien from the bounty of 
the heaped-up mountains, the rumbling cascades. 

No stint,’' it said, when she heard its voice, and 
then she turned indoors, imposing unasked tasks upon 
herself, granting unsolicited boons, as though to prove 
to herself that she could give. 

“ Think of yourself sometimes, child,” her gratified 
step-mother said. Youth only comes once in a life- 
time, an’ it is n’t fair of folk to make too many de- 
mands.” 

I ’ve been thinking of myself all the afternoon,” 
answered Marvel, sadly. 

“ An’ I ’ve been thinking about you, too,” said the 
woman, with an anxious glance. The new humility 
of the young face troubled her. “ Mind,” she pro- 
ceeded with decision, I won’t have you driven ; 
you ’ve been a good girl to me in spite of tantrums — 
an’ remember I said it ! You ’ve been a good girl to 
Max, too — an’ no son of mine shall drive you where 
you don’t want to go.” 


Refusal 


73 


Max ? ’’ Marvel looked surprised. She had not 
been thinking of Max. Since the evening two months 
ago when they had talked of it before, the girl had lived 
swiftly. There seemed no longer any question of Max. 
The dying see no new possibilities. 

No,” reiterated the woman, I won’t have you 
driven — not in my house. I ’ve given you harsh words 
myself, but that ’s a mother’s privilege. A woman can 
take from a woman what would be intolerable from a 
man. Two women stand the same side of the fence ; a 
man ’s on the other side with the barrier of sex between 
them. Mother an’ daughter, child — ah 1 that ’s the 
one relationship that allows all familiarity.” She 
looked wistfully at Marvel. “I ’ve wished many a 
time you ’d been my own ! ” 

Thank you, mother.” 

“ If she ’d only snap at me, an’ toss her head, an’ 
blurt out like she used to, I should get at what ’s in 
her mind,” thought Mary Meredith. 

“We had some talk a while ago about your 
going. I spoke rough an’ short. But don’t think 
I want to hold you back from seeing life, child. 
Max an’ me would miss you if you went, but we ’d 
manage ; it does n’t seem fair for you to serve us 
always.” 

“ If you don’t mind, I ’ll stay, mother.” 

“ Bide, then, child — there ’s not much pleasure for 
you, but there ’s as little trouble.” 


74 


The Untold Half 


She had forgotten that a tragedy only takes the space 
that holds a man and a woman. 

Wynn’s non-success with his mountain maid dis- 
turbed his temper somewhat for an hour or two ; but 
while she was feeling like a condemned criminal who 
must pay a mighty price for passion, he was free to 
enjoy. 

It was necessary for him to visit a studio he had had 
built away from the hotel, and not far from Beach Cot- 
tage, under cover of rock and bush, in the full light from 
the lake. The building was completed to his satisfac- 
tion, and only awaited the disposal of his effects. The 
artist was precisely in the mood for active exercise, and 
went to work with a will on the unpacking of several 
cases. As the hours passed, and the transformation 
scene became more complete, that vividness of look lit 
Wynn’s face that is characteristic of the artist when he 
subordinates matter to an idea. And although the 
studio was a means to an end — an accessory to work — 
the man gave it his most earnest attention. While 
Marvel wondered in an agony of fear lest she should be 
called upon to encounter the scorn of his eyes, they 
were brightening at sight of the exquisite tints of his 
silk and velvet hangings, and he was planning sociali- 
ties. He ’d give a tea-party to Marvel and Max, and 
anybody else who cared to come ; there were one or two 
visitors at the hotel. He had no design in this, it was 


Refusal 


75 


simply a social instinct. After the wandering of the 
last months, it was jolly to have a den of one’s own,” 
he told himself. 

Max went home a day or so later with accounts of 
the studio that wrung the disappointed tears from Mar- 
vel. She should never see it, and how she had wanted 
to see something that was not a log cabin or a cottage ! 
She felt in sympathy with Jacob ; ready to sell her 
birthright for a mess of pottage ; jealous of Max’s 
privilege of running in and out of the studio — first with 
a step-ladder, now with saws and nails, interjecting at 
intervals, “ My! girl, I believe you! It’s amazing! 
The pictures and statues, the china and things he ’s 
got ! It beats a museum ! ” She was constantly re- 
minded that she had shut the door of paradise in her 
own face. In the daytime she could not distinguish 
the building among its surrounding beech-grove, ex- 
cept when the slanting sun-rays flashed a signal from 
its glass roof ; but at night it shone like a beacon among 
dark rock and trees. 

And when she had despaired of a nearer view. Max 
came in quietly and said : “ Mr. Winter is giving a 
tea-party to-morrow, and presents his compliments and 
hopes you ’ll go.” 



CHAPTER VII 

A TKA-PARTY AT THE: WORLD’S E:ND 

Y OU *EU bring your fiddle this afternoon? ’’ 

Max was helping Wynn with a great green 
tub containing a magnificent palm. The questioner 
and questioned had the broad leaves of the plant be- 
tween them, and could not see each other’s face. 
There was decision in Wynn’s voice. The palm was 
heavy ; Max did not answer till it was satisfactorily 
placed in a draped corner of the studio. 

“ Why — no ! ” he answered slowly. The two men 
looked at each other steadily. Wynn had comprehen- 
sion in his gaze, Max question. 

‘‘ I know what you meant when you placed your 
instrument in a corner and left it there. You meant 
desertion — desertion of the gift that is in you. Now 
you know, old fellow, that ’s cowardly, and not like 
you ! ” 

Certainly not like him. He looked anything but a 
coward as he stood in a sort of remoteness, born of his 
76 


A Tea-Party at the World’s End 77 

pride. The man of acknowledged genius was sensitive 
to hurt. 

The mere dilettante can be distinguished from the 
real artist by the fact that the first succumbs to outside 
influences. The divine fire burns unextinguished, 
although it burns away the heart that creates it ! ’ ’ 

“ I had but a spark ! '' 

‘^But? Why, man, there ’s many another who 
would give their life for that ; it kindles the imagina- 
tion, sets fire to the soul ! How many great workers 
—great workers — men and women, who have built 
pyramids of patient construction in this desert of a 
world, never had that divine spark to light them ! If 
you put your foot on it, I tell you you leave yourself in 
intolerable darkness. ’ ^ 

Wynn was leaning against the door-post, not looking 
at Max, but at the mountains. Max’s face was tense, 
every furrow deep, and the heavy brows drawn close 
together. 

It would lead nowhere ! ” he said sullenly. He 
had realised that night in town that it was too late for 
scientific progress ; that the beautiful was inadequate 
without form ; enthusiasm could not take the place of 
knowledge. And he would rather renounce than fail 
in completion. 

Wynn felt guilty of having robbed the man of joy in 
his own performance, realising, as he did, the delight 
in the expre.ssion of power, as a thing apart from ac- 


78 


The Untold Half 


knowledged success. He wanted to restore this happi- 
ness to Max ; he realised that the young giant must 
find relief in the artistic from that force of charac- 
ter which, debarred an outlet, would overflow and 
damage. That zeal of temperament finding itself im- 
potent would destroy. The ideal would soften — be his 
torch to happiness. An inspiration seized him as Max 
went past him to the open. Waving his hand compre- 
hensively to the magnificence of the surrounding scene, 
he said with a witchery of smile and voice that was 
almost a woman's in charm : 

And God saw that it was good, and rested." God 
had no audience, no appreciation, his tone implied. 

" My first sermon ! " smiled Wynn, as he deftly 
completed his arrangements. " By Jove ! I begin to 
think there 's an embryo parson lying concealed in me 
somewhere — I felt a sort of exaltation — I ! who have 
had no religion but fame. But had success not been 
possible could I have given — given, always given ? 
Poor giant — poor Kwasind ! Dear, too, unto Hiawatha, 
was the very strong man Kwasind. ' ' 

"I'm the Emperor of Japan ! And I 'm his daugh- 
ter-in-law elect," he began to sing merrily, as he un- 
packed the cakes and sweetmeats that had arrived from 
town. 

Marvel's eyes were aglow with hope and expectation 
through all that morning ; she felt like a criminal re- 
prieved. All at once an illuminating ray had fallen on 


A Tea-Party at the World’s End 79 


her life again. The mobility came back to her face, 
the eagerness to her voice. Max seemed to be too 
much under the spell of the new personality to notice 
that it affected Marvel ; his mind was full of fresh 
thought and he could not flit from one impression to 
another easily, or the girl would have betrayed herself 
in her anxiety to look her best. She had been closeted 
in her own room an hour when her step-mother called 
impatiently, Is there never going to be an end to 
your titivating ? Max has been gone this half-hour. ’ ’ 

“ I ^m ready, said Marvel softly, appearing on the 
threshold. 

The grey face on the pillow kindled, she lifted her 
hand with a pathetic gesture, partly of surprise, partly 
in deprecation ; the solemn eyes looked long. Marvel 
wore the ‘'something blue” that Max had brought 
from the city — a frock of soft muslin. The woman was 
startled by the girl’s beauty. The dress was the sim- 
plicity of art, but the coiled bronze hair under the 
white broad-brimmed leghorn hat, and the dazzling 
tints of skin and eyes could not have had a better 
setting. Pleasure had curved the drooping mouth 
with a half-smile. 

Mary Meredith sighed. ‘ ‘ Unlock the bottom drawer 
of the chest ; there ’s a lace fichu in the right-hand 
corner. Bring it.” It was one of Frank Meredith’s 
few presents, and greatly prized. 

Marvel touched the delicate fabric with a little thrill 


8o 


The Untold Half 


of rapture ; was she indeed to wear it ? She had worn 
so few pretty things. 

Kneel,” said her step-mother, and the girl stooped 

on one knee. Mary Meredith knotted the lace over 

% 

the full bosom, then gently released her. 

“ You hi do,” she said, and twisted her own neck 
crookedly to get little glimpses of the vision as it flitted 
past the windows. 

From the sunshine and bracken Marvel passed into 
shaded light and subtle fragrances. She had a vague 
impression of soft rugs. Oriental colourings, gleaming 
statuary ; and approaching her with smiling face her 
god of the temple, in a black coat. He involuntarily 
quickened his steps as he caught sight of her and said 
cordially : 

“ This is good of you ! ” For one delicious instant 
he held her hand, his eyes gazing full into hers, well 
pleased. In the next she became aware that there 
were others in the studio and obeyed the move of her 
host, who introduced her to a middle-aged lady whose 
look of haughty reserve and veiled sarcasm steadied 
Marvel’s pulse. She seated herself in a wicker chair 
with crimson silk cushions that set off the pale blue of 
her dress and the colour of her skin to perfection. Be- 
side her was a sweet-faced girl of timid bearing, and 
eyes like a fawn’s. Opposite sat what Marvel mistook 
for a boy in the first glance, dressed in a man’s frock- 
coat and grey trousers. When her eyes fell upon him 


A Tea-Party at the Worlds End 8i 


he was in the act of re-seating himself, his hands rest- 
ing upon the arms of the voluminous cane chair he 
occupied, but at the beaming challenge of the dark 
eyes he nervously sprang to his feet again. “ Miss 
Meredith, Mr. Anthony Algernon Armstrong.’' 

The faintest shadow of a smile lurked about Wynn’s 
mouth as he made the presentation, and Marvel flushed 
with the effort to control a merry peal of laughter. 

“ It is a man ! ” she said to herself as she looked at 
the fair guileless face and the straight, colourless hair 
and slender figure enveloped in the immaculate coat. 
Never had she felt the strength of the grim personality 
of her step-brother so much as at that moment ; he 
stood near in an unconsciously graceful attitude, his 
stormy face softened by something almost protective as 
he looked down at the little man. 

Marvel’s entrance had drawn attention from the elder 
lady. She smoothed down her dark silk with an ex- 
quisitely gloved hand, and turned to Wynn with an 
ingratiating smile. 

“ So altogether charming of you to give a party at 
the world’s end. But your migration has left Tondon 
desolate. I hope ’ ’ — she sank her voice a little, but the 
supercilious tones were distinctly audible — ‘ ‘ I hope the 
barbarians are duly appreciative ! ’ ’ 

The momentary softness died out of Marvel’s face. 

Instinctive hostility and resentment took its place. 

The lady, by that soft stroking of her gown, had re- 
6 


82 


The Untold Half 


minded her that she had forgotten to wear gloves ! In 
a moment she was as ill at ease as the elder woman 
meant she should be. The brilliant beauty of the girl, 
her natural queenliness, had given mortal offence. 

I have been delighted with everything I have 
seen/^ said Wynn. 

Marvel flashed him a grateful look. 

The Baroness,” continued the lady, glancing to- 
wards the sad-eyed girl beside Marvel, ‘Hhinks the 
place a second Siberia. Do you not, dear child ? ” 

“ Do I not what ? ” asked the girl languidly, catch- 
ing her mother’s eye. 

Think these mountains oppressive ? ” said Wynn, 
offering her tea. 

“ Do I ? I suppose so if mamma says it ! ” 

'' Who is that man ? ” she asked in an undertone of 
her host, indicating Max by a glance, as she helped 
herself to cream. 

“ Max Hawthorne, an explorer.” 

“ I suppose I can’t possibly have met him anywhere, 
and yet I seem to know him ! ’ ’ 

But later, when Max was playing, their eyes met, and 
then they both remembered. It was the girl who had 
given him the roses at the concert. A delicate pink 
stole into her cheeks at the recollection. It had been 
a momentary impulse of sympathy, for he had seemed 
troubled, but she was not permitted impulses. Her 
mother had but j ust then successfully accomplished her 


A Tea-Party at the World’s End 83 


dear child’s marriage to a wealthy Russian baron. For 
political reasons the bridegroom’s return to Russia was 
imperative, but the bride’s health was delicate, and 
the doctor had tabooed a Russian winter. When 
questioned about her husband she had answered, It 
is possible I may love him when I know him.” 

She saw by Max’s eyes that he thought none the 
worse of her for her surreptitious offering, and he 
strove now to thank her. He felt that she also had 
been baffled and cheated somehow. And as he hugged 
his violin he felt as a lover feels when his mistress has 
been restored to him. Something stole into his music 
that was not all yearning ; there was promise as well. 
He had the strangest, slightest effects, and Wynn, lis- 
tening with glad eyes, fancied he heard the wind of 
mountain storm, and birds singing. 

A hush was the first applause, then Mrs. Grahame 
gushed effusively : 

Thanks so much. Most charming, brilliant, in 
fact ’ ’ ; then she turned graciously, and gave Max a 
list of great players and their performances; which irri- 
tated Marvel more and more, because of that certain 
something in Mrs. Grahame’ s manner that savoured 
of condescension and put her step-brother and herself 
miles away from Wynn. 

“ To me, personally, these people and their ways 
don’t matter in the least,” every glance and tone of the 
woman said ; “ I am here because of Mr. Winter ! ” 


84 


The Untold Half 


Mr. Anthony Armstrong, who had received such a 
shock at sight of Marvel’s beauty that he was only 
just recovering when Max’s music plunged him into a 
sea of emotion, suddenly emerged and crossed to Mar- 
vel. Seating himself on the extreme edge of a huge 
chair, he bent forward with an anxious expression on 
his small face. 

You don’t leave here soon, I hope ? ” 

** No chance of it. As likely as not I shall live and 
die here,” answered Marvel, puzzled at his earnestness 
and the relief that leaped to the pale blue eyes at her 
answer. 

My impwession is,” he said — he had no 'H’s ” and 
substituted w’s ” — that it ’s a countwy that takes 
some beating. The Old Countwy ’s vewy well, but 
it ’s old, don’t you know. Life wuns in wuts. There ’s 
the social wut, and the commercial wut, and the political 
wut, and all the other wuts, litwawy and artistic. Any- 
body wanting to take a diwect cut comes a cwopper, 
don’t you know ! ” 

A merry peal of laughter answered him, so spontane- 
ous and musical that every eye in the room turned 
Marvel’s way. Mr. Anthony Armstrong smiled in- 
dulgently, still bending forward. 

So I thought I ’d twy a change, Miss Mewedith, 
in a countwy that ’s new.” 

Before the ruts deface the surface ? ” 

Just so. Miss Mewedith.” 


A Tea-Party at the World’s End 85 


“ And how do you like it ? ” 

“ Pwetty well ; in fact, vewy well, but it takes a 

little — little ’ ^ 

“ Navigation ? ” she suggested. 

“Just so. Miss Mewedith. On the twamp, for in- 
stance — you hear a deal of the twamp at home, and 
the pleasures of twamping, but the sou’ -westers are 
left out, and the fwying-pan ! ’ ’ 

“You could n’t manipulate the frying-pan ? ” 

“ It was nearly the death of me, I assure you, Miss 
Mewedith. Fwying fish in the open, over a smoky 
fire, is an art. The smoke gets into my eyes, and 

down my thwoat ” 

“ But why suffer such discomfort ? ” 

“ For expewience. Miss Mewedith ; to escape the 
wuts. To get away from the beaten twacks and the 
public-houses.’’ 

Marvel looked puzzled, not to say shocked. The 
young old face was wrinkled with worry. 

“I ’m heir to a bw;ewer,’’ he explained dolefully. 
“ I ’m a stwict teetotaler myself — not from pwinciple 
so much as inclination. I sort of smell malt, don’t you 
know ” 

“ Tony,” interrupted Wynn, “ I want to show Miss 
Meredith my photographs.” 

Marvel turned her radiant face to her host, grateful 
for his attention. Since his reception he had not 
spoken to her, but all the while his presence had per- 


86 


The Untold Half 


meated the atmosphere. His every easy movement 
and gracious hospitality had delighted and reproved 
her. Her own brusqueness and ungraciousness were 
magnified to her recollection. A drawing-room and its 
refinement, its polite if insincere conversation, had 
been outside her ken. Mrs. Grahame’s clap-trap and 
pretension had imposed upon her. If she had known 
Wynn's opinion of the woman she would have modified 
her own humility. But she had no enlightenment. 
She thought those pretty and effusive nothings the 
right thing, the finishing touches of good breeding. 

With her superb shapeliness she looked a little over- 
tall as she stood beside Wynn, and the adoring Tony 
looked up at her like an admiring bird. A pretty flush 
of flattered pride had mounted her cheeks, and Wynn 
marvelled at her glow and sparkle. His eyes had taken 
in every detail of her dress, the costly old lace at 
her throat, and felt grateful to her for gracing his 
studio. 

Mrs. Grahame watched them with mocking eyes ; 
but Tove, the refiner, was at work upon the girl, toning 
down here, touching up there, and she passed the scru- 
tiny triumphantly. 

When Wynn went back to the elder woman Marvel 
held herself with greater self-possession. She inspected 
the studio minutely — the statuettes and half-finished 
sketches, the easel with its vacant canvas, the heaped- 
up miscellaneous assortment of the artist’s parapher- 


A Tea-Party at the World s End 87 


nalia, the copper kettle swinging on its bright stand ; 
and it flashed miserably through her that she had 
deliberately shut herself out from the daily enjoyment 
of this. 

When next she became conscious of what was going 
on she found that Max had taken the lead. He was 
telling the Baroness a tale of heroism. The girl’s face 
had paled, and her sad eyes were burning with a bril- 
liant fire. The nonchalance and impersonality of her 
manner had changed to quiet, concentrated interest. 
Mrs. Grahame looked uneasy, but Wynn and Tony 
Armstrong were breathless. Max’s voice faltered as 
he ceased. Into the uncomfortable silence that follows 
deep feeling Tony’s voice broke with a gasp : 

By Jove ! that was out of the common wut.” 

Mrs. Grahame seized the moment and rose. It 
would not do for her dear child to think — sentiment 
was awkward. While she overwhelmed Wynn with 
assurances of the delight the afternoon had given her, 
the girl-Baroness found time to hold out her soft white 
hand to Max and say, Your music and your story 
have helped me. Thank you.” 

Wynn bowed his guests to the door and returned to 
Marvel. Mr. Anthony Armstrong was craning his 
neck to look at Max, and missed her expression. 

Forgive me, I was rude. When may I come for 
the first sitting ? ’ ’ 

Wynn clasped her hand in both his. Dear girl ! 


88 


The Untold Half 


how can I thank you ? I shall be your debtor all my 
life long ! 

Marvel cuddled to Max’s arm going home. The eyes 
of both were bright with the joy of giving. 

‘ ‘ My frock is sweet, ’ ’ she said. 

“ And so are you, dear,” answered Max. 

” I say,” said Tony, getting breath as the girl dis- 
appeared from view, ” I say. Winter, by Jove, you 
know ! I should n’t poach, should I ? ” 

Wynn looked down, puzzled. The pale face of the 
small man was tremendously eager. A light dawned 
in Wynn’s eyes. ” Poach ? I assure you, no ! ” 

” But the other fellow — he ’s an awfully fine fellow, 
and I should n’t like to hurt anybody, don’t you 
know.” 

” No fear of that ; he ’s her step-brother.” 




CHAPTER VIII 

"‘then eet come what come may ’’ 

HE autumn mists were casting fantastic spells, 



1 weaving weird phantom stories about the peaks, 
before Wynn listened to Max’s suggestion that if he 
wanted to visit Milford Sound and the Southerland 
Falls it was time to be off before the sou’ -westers made 
it impossible. Max was restless, and Wynn dissatis- 
fied; for in all these weeks the artist had failed to real- 
ise the vision of Marvel as he had first conceived her. 
He had sketched and painted her in dozens of positions 
and expressions, till every line of face and figure was 
familiar ; but no great hour of inspiration came. For 
Marvel there never had been such a sun, never such 
stars as had shone on these days and nights. Not that 
she deceived herself to hope ; she saw the day of her 
bereavement — but the strength of the smart, the rest- 
lessness and dread with which she anticipated, so 
affected her that she held thought in check. 


“Then let come what come may, 
I shall have had my day,” 

8q 


90 


The Untold Half 


was her mental attitude, though she did not quote the 
poet. 

She had played for no stakes ; she accepted the in- 
evitable with wide-eyed stoicism and pride. She knew 
that neither the lightest nor the deepest in her could 
awaken the man about whom her thoughts clung so 
passionately. He could not move or speak in her 
proximity without its effect upon her. But she used 
no arts, tried no cajolery — her moods were the echo of 
the man. 

He found her quite an incomprehensible creature, 
with springs of motive beyond his ken. Those hours 
in the studio gave her lessons in self-control that stood 
her in stead ; in the remoteness of his genius he spoke 
and looked from another world, and she watched him 
with desolate eyes. 

Max and Tony Armstrong haunted the studio. Tony, 
in mountaineering garb, looked about fifteen. His 
loins were always girded and his staff in his hand ready 
for a journey ; a very bright and new axe and pistol 
gleaming in his belt. He was palpitating for advent- 
ure, but turned up regularly to the sittings, ‘ ‘ A source 
of innocent merriment — of innocent merriment,’’ as 
Wynn sang ; and the four young people had many a 
laugh together. 

It was Marvel’s last afternoon at the studio before 
Wynn and Max departed for the mountains. The sit- 
ting had exhausted the girl ; it had been long, for some- 


‘‘Then Let Come What Come May*’ 91 


thing in her expression had caught the painter’s fancy: 
but it was not the pose that had tired her so much as 
her emotion. To have those grey eyes searching her 
face, seeing yet not seeing her, looking past her to an 
idea ; to submit to the gentle touch of the light firm 
fingers as Wynn adjusted her pose, and not to cry out, 
had proved well-nigh unendurable. 

She left the studio quietly, unnoticed by the man. 
When he turned and saw that she had gone, he smiled 
curiously. 

“ She likes me less every day. Curious, the strength 
of her antagonism — how she veils her real self from me ! 
There is no soul in her face — to me.” 

He walked from his easel, palette in hand, examin- 
ing first one sketch of her and then another, closing 
one eye critically as he passed from canvas to canvas. 
Marvel looked back at him abstractedly, reproach- 
fully, smilingly ; the beautiful form stood erect, 
reclined, bent forward to, and turned from him. 
There was the living tint of her hair and the brown 
of her eyes, but the sketch that interested him most 
was the one where she turned away. There was a 
droop and dejection about the attitude that suggested 
sorrowing, and he felt an instinct to put his hand on 
the curved shoulder and turn her round to see if she 
were crying. 

This was just the view Tony Armstrong caught of 
the original as he strode to overtake her. It would 


92 


The Untold Half 


have been easier to run, he would have made quicker 
progress, but stretching his legs till the wonder was 
he did not split in half, Tony came alongside. Marvel 
heard the bracken crunch, and turned expectantly. 
Her expression denoted, “ Oh, it ’s only you.’' Her 
pace involuntarily quickened. 

I beg your pardon for intwuding,” panted Tony, 
with a skip to keep pace, but I want to say good- 
bye, Miss Mewedith.” 

As he had been saying good-bye every day for a 
month, and had not departed. Marvel did not seem 
much impressed. 

Do you go with Mr. Winter and Max ? ” she asked, 
with some surprise, eying him sideways. I had n’t 
heard it.” 

“ No, Miss Mewedith, I ’m going another way — out 
of the beaten twacks. ’ ’ 

Be careful the tracks don’t beat you ! ” cautioned 

she. 

Tony took three very quick steps and another skip, 
then answered breathlessly : “ I ’m vewy stwong 

— wemarkably stwong, and I ’ve got my ambitions. 
Miss Mewedith. A voyage of discovewy is just in my 
line. Max and Winter will loiter, they tell me. 
Winter wants to study the mist effects. So I shall 
twy another woute, don’t 3^011 know, and take my 
camewa. I shall get some snap-shots that will aston- 
ish the fellows at home. If I don’t pwove that I ’ve 


Then Let Come What Come May 93 


done something out of the common wut, they ’ll hint 
at twavellers’ tales, don’t you know.” 

Marvel had reached the porch steps. Tony took 
breath, and looked up very earnestly. 

“Well, be careful — don’t go too far. Men have 
been lost hereabouts, and their bones never found.” 

The earnestness deepened in the small face. He 
said gently, “ Oh, don’t you twouble about me. Miss 
Mewedith ! ’ ’ 

He became lost in reverie, his eyes raised to the 
beautiful face. Marvel nodded to him from the top of 
the steps. 

“ Well, good-bye ! ” 

He snatched off his cap, but before speech came to 
him she had disappeared. 

“ I hope she won’t twouble about me,” he solilo- 
quised. “ I don’t like to hurt anybody’s feelings, but 
a man must stand his gwound, don’t you know. 
Courage and will are the gold that makes the man ; 
appeawances are the guinea-stamp ‘an’ a’ that ’ ! ” 
He threw back his shoulders, flung out his leg, and 
strode on. 

“ He looks like a toy-soldier! ” laughed Marvel from 
the window. 

“ It ’s a shame of Nature to have packed a big man 
into such a small skin — his large impulses will burst 
him! ” answered Max, with a slow smile. 

“ He ’s afraid you and Mr. Winter will go too slow 


94 


The Untold Half 


for him, so he does not accompany you,^^ said Marvel. 

Their eyes met, and they laughed. 

‘‘He ’s a gentleman, too,’^ remarked Max; “he 
knows it ’s manners to wait till he ’s asked. 

“ He 41 distinguish himself yet,” she said. 

“ You bet ! ” responded Max. 

Max had lifted his head like a war-horse at sound of 
the bugle at Wynn’s decision to climb ; the call of the 
heights made him impatient to start. Marvel looked 
out at night to the towering star-lit peaks, and won- 
dered at the passion with which they inspired men — 
strong as the passion for gold and the glamour of a 
woman. They drew them by their magnetism of mys- 
tery up to their cold heights and crystallised their love 
of common things ; they held men and made it possible 
for them to risk life for a spray of eidelweiss. She 
turned away with almost a moan ; they were taking 
away her beloved. She felt that a phase was past ; 
that her hour was done. Things would not fall again 
into the same groove. But there was a touch of fatalism 
in her nature that forbade her to make ado. So she 
turned to her step-mother with such assiduous attention 
that the woman watched her with curiosity. There 
was a strained expression in the girl’s face as the days 
passed, as of one who waits ; she lifted her head at any 
sudden sound, paling at footsteps that chanced to pass ; 
and all about the cottage was an air of expectation, the 
kettle singing on the logs, the trimmed lamps, the cur- 


''Then Let Come What Come May” 95 


tains drawn late and undrawn early. This mood passed 
to the woman; but as Marvel’s relaxed hers intensified. 
She was impatient that herself and her room might be 
trim at an early hour, eager that the red lamp should 
shine at the window before dusk had fallen. 

“ You seem to expect somebody,” said Marvel, one 
evening, looking attentively at the woman’s face. It 
looked strangely drawn, and the eyes were unnaturally 
bright. She had not spoken for more than an hour, 
and Marvel felt she must break the tension, for the 
silence was charged with thought. 

"Do I ? ” asked the woman, with a restless sigh. 
" It is n’t true, I don’t.” 

Her eyes travelled to Frank Meredith’s pictured face 
as she spoke. 

Again the strained silence fell between them. Mar- 
vel was sewing, and the click of her needle against the 
thimble sounded distinctly in the room. A fitful wind 
had risen, bringing with it the dull roar of gorges and 
the beating together of forest boughs. Marvel lifted 
her head and listened, suspending her needle. 

" What ’s that ? ” she asked sharply, rising to her 
feet. 

There was a ghostly tapping at the window. She 
crossed to open it, and did not hear the smothered cry 
from the bed. 

"Omy God !” 

A gust of wind blew into the room, flapping the cur- 


96 


The Untold Half 


tain and almost extinguishing the lamp. Marvel 
craned her neck, and stared out into the darkness, 
drew in, and closed the window with a bang, shutting 
out the sound of wind and water at war. 

“ It was the vine against the glass,'’ she said quietly, 
and resumed her sewing. But Mary Meredith did not 
answer, and the quiet of the room grew oppressive. 
In a pause of the wind, that went wailing into the 
ravines, footsteps were distinctly heard passing on the 
gravel. They passed and stopped, returned and paused 
opposite the window. Marvel caught her breath ; her 
eyes met the burning eyes of her step-mother. She 
crossed hurriedly and flung the window open again. 

“ Who ’s there ? ” she called sharply. 

Above the roar of waters came a mild, deprecating 
voice. 

“ It ’s me. Miss Mewedith ! ” 

‘ ‘ The fool ! ’ ’ said the woman. 

Marvel leant out of the window and laughed. 

Why, Mr. Armstrong, I thought you ’d gone ! ” 

“So I did go, but I ’ve we turned ; I ’ve had some 
tewible expewiences, quite out of the common wut, I 
assure you ” 

“ Shut-to the window,” commanded the woman. 

“Won’t you come in and tell me? Do,” called 
Marvel, closing the window, but not drawing down the 
blind. 

Tony obeyed the unexpected invitation with alacrity, 


'' Then Let Come What Come May’' 97 


but stood on the veranda rather longer than was neces- 
sary, peering into the dimness of the ivy wreaths about 
the posts. 

Marvel led him into the kitchen, where red logs 
glowed. He had a very wild-blown, rather scared 
look, and blinked up at Marvel as though the sudden 
transition from darkness to light and beauty had half 
blinded him. 

Have you been seeing ghosts ? ” she asked. 

* ‘ I — er — no, * ’ he stammered uncertainly. ‘ ‘ Oh dear 

no. Miss Mewedith ! I was passing — passing 

“ That ’s twice you passed,” interrupted Marvel. 

“ Do you ever feel a little nervous ? ” he blurted out. 

Nervous ? I ? ” She smiled and shook her head, 
then added as an afterthought : “At least I never 
have before to-night, but a creepy-crawly feeling was 
coming over me when you passed. I suppose it was 
sitting still so long — mother was in a mood for quiet. 
It 's a bit lonely for a girl sometimes,” she added, with 
a return of one of her old flashes of impatience. 

Tony had been fingering his revolver, examining it 
rather carefully. 

“Tt seems to me a bit dangewous, ’ ’ he said anxiously, 
‘ ‘ two unpwotected women in this lonely spot. ’ ’ 

“ Nonsense ! What ’s to harm us ? But you have n’t 
told me your experiences. ’ ’ 

She sat down by the table, and leaning her arms 
upon it waited with a half-smile for him to begin. He 


98 


The Untold Half 


looked at her, meditatively, still standing upon the 
hearth, his legs wide apart, after the manner of a man. 

' ‘ Just so. Miss Mewedith. I ’ ve had a most intewest- 
ing time : climbed where no man seemed to have been 
before, and took some splendid snaps, I assure you. 
But being off the beaten twack I could n’t weplenish 
my pwo visions. I could n’t find a Government hut 
anywhere, don’t you know, and the mists blotted out 
the view and made it damp. But it ’s a gweat expewi- 
ence to bivouac on a mountain ledge. It gets into 
your bones, the stars and all that, and the feel of the 
solitude. So I weturned this evening for more pwovi- 
sions, Miss Mewedith, and as I was descending it got 
so beastly dark, don’t 3 ^ou know, that I lost the twack 
and came a cwopper ” 

Marvel’s laugh was cut short by a piercing scream 
from Mary Meredith’s room. The girl started to her 
feet, every vestige of colour leaving her face. But 
Tony sprang before her, revolver in hand. 

“ Miss Mewedith,” he commanded, “ stand back! 
I ’ll go.” 

She pushed him aside with such force that he spun 
round. The next instant she was in her step-mother’s 
room, appalled to see the woman, who had lain like a 
log for years, sitting up in bed. Her face was ghastly, 
and her eyes staring. 

‘ ‘ Took 1 ’ ’ she cried, pointing to the window. ' ‘ Y our 
father’s ghost ! ” and fell back heavily. For one horri- 


“ Then Let Come What Come May ” 99 


fied moment Marvel’s eyes were fastened on a leering 
face pressed against the glass, then she caught her 
breath, and laid her hand on Tony’s arm. 

Don’t let him get away, but don’t hurt him, Tony 
— he ’s my father. And afterwards could you find a 
doctor ? I think the fright has killed my mother.” 

Tony stared at the apparition, open-mouthed, for an 
instant, then saying, That ’s the fellow I saw pwowl- 
ing about,” went quietly out. 

” Come inside, Mr. Mewedith,” he said testily. I 
can’t see the fun in fwightening a woman into a fit; it ’s 
beastly bad form, don’t you know. There ’s the door. 
I ’ll be back pwesently.” 




CHAPTER IX 

“l SHAI.I, HAVK HAD MY DAY” 

HE lake of the sorrowing heart ’ ' gleamed like a 



1 dark jewel in its snow- setting under the white 
light of dawn, but the windows of the cottage still 
glowed amid the darkness of their creepers, and a shaft 
of light from the open kitchen door darted into the 


water. 


Tony, in his shirt-sleeves, waited patiently inside the 
room, resting from the self-appointed task of cooking. 
The experiences of the night had been quite out of the 
common rut ; entirely unconventional. To have been 
of service to two women, and one of them Marvel, had 
thrilled him from top to toe with pleasure. He had 
found a touring doctor at the inn, who had stayed a 
long time. Of Marvel he had seen little ; she had 
come into the kitchen several times with a stern white 
face; had scarcely spoken, but taking what she wanted, 
and casting a frowning glance upon Frank Meredith— 
who had fallen asleep in a chair on the hearth— had 


lOO 



“ I Shall Have Had My Day 


lOI 


returned to her charge. No sound had come from the 
inner room for some time, and Tony waited. 

Presently Marvel came in. It was the first time that 
Tony had ever seen that weary droop of her head, and 
it stirred something in his heart ; too delicate and 
varied a feeling to express. Marvel sat down with a 
tired sigh on the chair that Tony had set for her at the 
table, with her back to the sleeping man. She watched 
Tony make tea and pour it out, with a look that seemed 
to him one of quiet interest, under which he girded 
himself to self-possession. In reality she did not see 
him at all. He handed her a cup of the tea he had 
made, and watched her tasting it in an agony of appre- 
hension and anxiety. Fortunately Marvel’s gaze drew 
in ; she became aware of the strained expression of his 
face, the intently watching eyes, the tip- toe attitude. 

Delicious,” she smiled. 

Tony came down from tip-toe with a gasp, and 
smoothed down his very smooth pale hair. The action 
was one of gentle encouragement and caress. It was 
meant in his mind for Marvel. 

After a night of watching was anything ever more 
delicious ! ” she said again, in an undertone so as not 
to awaken the sleeper. How clever of you to know, 
and to make it ! ” 

People have different estimates of heaven, but Tony’s 
was there and then. Whenever he wanted to remem- 
ber how it felt to be happy he would cast his thought 


102 


The Untold Half 


to the cottage kitchen, and see the girl between the 
fading light of the lamp and white patches of dawn that 
crept through the curtains, her large dark eyes smiling 
at him from a pale face. 

She remembered presently. 

‘‘ Mr. Armstrong, do sit down and have breakfast.’’ 

He was bringing something from the oven in a mys- 
terious manner. The dish was very hot ; he flung it 
upon the table and slapped his hand upon his leg, his 
fair face crimsoning. 

‘‘ I beg your pardon, Miss Mewedith — don’t you 
twouble about me. I ’ve scwambled you an egg. One 
of my twamping expewiences. ’ ’ He stood till she had 
sampled it. 

‘ ‘ I have never tasted a scrambled egg like it before ! ’ ’ 
she said truthfully. 

Then Tony sat down, burnt fingers and all trouble 
far from him. 

When he had eaten. Marvel pushed away her plate, 
and, turning down the lamp, drew aside the blind and 
let a flood of white light into the room. 

Ugh ! ” she shuddered, ‘‘ how ghastly it is, how 
wan and old we look, how tawdry the room ! And look 
at the snow on the mountains, and the white mist on 
the lake ! I hate the dawn ; it is cheerless and hope- 
less ! ” 

Before her companion could reply she turned, still 
shivering, and stood in front of the sleeping man, and 


I Shall Have Had My Day 


103 


looked at him long and critically with eyes of merciless 
scrutiny. His limbs sprawled in the abandon of deep, 
exhausted sleep, his head thrown back against the 
high-backed chair on which he sat, his arms hanging, 
his feet stuck out, clad in unblacked broken boots. 
His trousers were frayed at the bottom, the dark suit 
was soiled. His shirt was of a dull checked woollen 
stuff, and a light tie of a loud pattern was tied in a 
jaunty knot round a collarless neck. Several buttons 
were missing from the rusty velveteen waistcoat, others 
were sewed on with white cotton. 

Marvel bent lower, but with a visibly shrinking 
movement, and Tony caught his breath. He was in a 
fog, but he knew instinctively what the girl was feeling, 
what guessing at the repulsive sight. The tremor that 
shook her strong young body communicated itself to 
him. He felt a sudden chill, an impulse to draw the 
blind and shut off the merciless light from the dissolute 
face ; to kick the man and tell him for God’s sake to 
hide himself from the eyes of the girl. But he only 
glanced, irresolutely and nervously, first at Marvel, 
then at the blind, then where the girl gazed. The loose 
mouth was partly open, yet the lips seemed ready to 
form coarse flatteries ; every line was horribly visible. 
The man’s full fair throat had a bull-dog look about it ; 
the ears were large and coarse ; but, even in sleep, 
there was a weak, deprecating look about the face. 
From head to foot, from head to foot again the fright- 


104 


The Untold Half 


ened eyes of the girl slowly travelled, resting upon the 
thick hair that, between its patches of grey, had still a 
glint of her own hair about it. She saw it, and gave a 
stifled cry, and touched her hair, and hid her eyes. 

And that ’s my father ! ” she moaned, “ and I ’m 
like him somehow ! Oh, I am ! It 's too horrible ! ” 

It was true ; debased, degraded as he was, the beau- 
tiful girl that wept at sight of him had seen and recog- 
nised that mysterious reflection of flesh. 

Tony skipped to the window and drew the curtain, 
stirred the logs into a blaze, then stood beside Marvel, 
where she turned on the hearth, her back to the still 
slumbering man. She cried quietly for a moment or 
two, then with shamed eyes bent on the fire said, I 
had been taught to think him a gentleman. Until 
lately I did not suspect otherwise, and gave myself airs 
on the strength of it. He would n’t strike you as a 
gentleman, would he, Mr. Armstrong ? ” She laughed 
nervously. ‘‘ You ’ve been let into the family secrets 
to-night, have n’t you ? ” 

“ Don’t you twouble about me, Miss Mewedith. I 
assure you I ’ve neither seen, nor heard, nor suspected 
anything that I shall wemember — I ’ve a beastly bad 
memowy, don’t you know ! There ’s only one thing 
sticks in it — the bwewewy and my own poor claim to 
wespectability ! ” 

Marvel stretched out her hand sideways, and, with- 
out raising her eyes, laid it upon his arm. 


“ I Shall Have Had My Day 


105 


When Tony found himself outside, and alone with 
the morning mists, he bent down his face for a moment 
and rested it upon his coat-sleeve. 

The girl sat by the fire quietly greeting, falling into 
an attitude of utter dejection. So this man was her 
father, Mary Meredith’s idol ! She had despised Max 
and his mother because of him. Thank God Wynn 
had not seen him ! Over face and neck the crimson 
blood of shame surged. She rocked backwards and 
forwards, her burning face covered by her hands. Why 
had she been so tricked ? Oh for that unpriced boon 
of gentle blood ! 

When she looked up again Frank Meredith stood 
before her, smiling superciliously. They eyed each 
other in antagonistic silence, the girl’s elbows resting 
upon her knees, her face between her palms. Her 
gaze was steadier than his ; he shuffled beneath it. 

Well,” she said slowly, ” you ’ve come back ? ” 

^ ‘ And damned sorry everybody seems to see me ! ’ ’ 
She sprang to her feet, every atom of meekness 
changing in an electrical moment to rage and contempt. 

‘‘ Cad ! ” she said in low, scornful tones, mindful 
even in her rage of the sick woman who slept in an- 
other room. ‘ ' Coward and cad, use another word like 
that in this house, and out you go ! ” 

Her eyes flamed at him. She pointed to the door. 
The man stared at her with his bold glance ; compre- 
hending as he looked that he was more than matched. 


io6 


The Untold Half 


Thief and coward,’^ she went on, still in subdued 
tones, to live on a woman’s bounty, then rob and de- 
sert her, and then to come sneaking back with the toes 
out of your shoes ! ” 

She swept such a glance of withering contempt over 
him from head to foot that he seemed to shrivel be- 
neath it. 

Curse your impertinence ! ” he said, in a tone of 
bluster. 

She raised her hand as though to strike him across 
the mouth, then desisted ; her hand dropped and she 
turned away. 

‘‘Honour thy father and thy mother!” he said, 
with a short mocking laugh. 

She moved to the open door and leaned against the 
door-post. The fresh morning air fanned her cheek, 
the native birds called from the bush a welcome to the 
red flush in the east. The ripples of the lake sighed 
all along the shore. She turned her eyes towards 
Fiordland. 

‘ ‘ Honour, ’ ’ she said sadly, as though half in reverie ; 
“ that means revere, and no clean-hearted child can 
honour meanness and littleness, even in a father. It ’s 
a bit rough on the child to be asked to do it. If you 
were a hundred times my father I could n’t do it — not 
for the promise of a thousand years’ life in the land. 
Some things are better than life ; honour is one of 
them. I don’t mean the sentiment of it for one like 


I Shall Have Had My Day” 107 

you — I should be low down before I could reverence 
you, — but I mean the actual fact of it, the quality that 
makes a gentleman.” 

She did not turn her head, or she might have seen 
the first shadow of shame pass over the man’s face that 
had touched it for many years. 

‘‘ I don’t honour you,” she reiterated in sullen 
tones; “ I don’t want to — and my mother I never 
knew.” The man’s head drooped. He went back to 
his chair in the shadow. “ Something in me that rises 
up against you feels as though she bore me in sorrow. 
If she did you ’d best not say it; I should want to do 
you a mischief. I dreamt once of a poor white face 
bending over me, and sometimes I wake with a start 
at the feel of hot tears splashing on my cheeks. That 
might be a dream — I don’t want to know, but what I 
do know is ” — she turned and stood before his chair, 
looking down at him fearlessly — ” I do know that Mary 
Meredith fed you and me, and cared for us, and prided 
in us, and got betrayal for her pains. She ’s dying 
now — it ’s only a matter of weeks, the doctor says ; and 
honour or no, Bible or no, if you give her one more 
hurt by look or word I ’ll be even with you.” 

Say on ! ” he ejaculated, all but dumb with aston- 
ishment that any woman dare tackle him. 

I mean to,” she proceeded. ‘‘ If Max were here 
you ’d hear less and receive more. But in his absence 
I ’ll protect the woman who ’s protected me. Only a 


io8 ' 


The Untold Half 


month or so ago I thought ourselves too good for her 
company, and pitied you. ’ ' She laughed unpleasantly. 
'‘You fooled her once, fool her again ; you 've got to 
let her think you ’re fond of her.” 

He sprang to his feet, a Don Juan in rags, but the 
insolent conceit of look and attitude was unmistakable. 
He laughed conceitedly. 

“ That old fright ! ” he exclaimed. But he did not 
like his daughter’s expression, and left off laughing. 

‘ ‘ If your two faces were coffined side by side I know 
which would be the nicer to look at, ’ ’ she said callously. 

“ Have done,” he said. “ This is sickening ; I ’m 
sorry I came. As you see, I — er ” 

“ Wanted money ! ” interposed Marvel coolly. 

“ It ’s very humiliating — ” he began, blustering. 

“It is,” agreed the girl. “ But you ’ll get the 
money on conditions. ’ ’ 

He stared. 

“ The doctor says she must die,” the girl went on 
drearily, “ and when she ’s dead I ’m to have two hun- 
dred pounds. She told me. It ’s a little fortune she 
saved for me, to give me a start.” The girl’s beautiful 
mouth trembled piteously, and her hand shook ; for a 
moment she paused, but gulped down her rising sobs, 
and continued. “ She ’s slaved for the money, dressed 
shabbily, stinted her son. She ’s never been happy — 
never ” 

Suddenly all the girl’s self-control gave way, her 


I Shall Have Had My Day 


109 


voice broke beyond mending. She threw herself before 
him and leant her bright head against his soiled knees. 

“ It 's hard for a woman to die like that. Be good 
to her, and I ’ll give you the money when she ’s gone.” 

The sobs shook her body, she crouched lower at the 
man’s knees. He was amazed. He had left her a 
young termagant, and returned to find her Mary Mere- 
dith’s champion. His mind travelled back over the 
past, and the weak will caught at a straw here and there 
of better things ; he saw the dead leaves of finer im- 
pulses float past on the stream that had engulfed him. 
His soul made ineffectual effort to rise, a shuddering 
passed through his frame, the flabby eyelids trembled, 
a mist obscured his sight. He touched the bright 
bowed head. 

” Don’t cry,” he said gruffly; ” there is n’t a man 
amongst us worth a woman’s tears. I don’t want your 
money. Get up, and give me some food.” 

And so it came to pass that before the sun shone 
through the western window of Mary Meredith’s room 
the man for whom she had pined for ten long years sat 
beside her, decently clothed, and nearer his right mind 
than he found conducive to self-esteem. His wife lay 
and watched him with eyes that made him shiver, a 
look of ineffable peace and joy making the grey face 
young. As Marvel stole in and out, with averted eyes, 
the man looked sheepish and sulky, his glance travel- 
ling restlessly to the open window ; he was cutting an 


I lO 


The Untold Half 


unseemly figure in his daughter’s eyes. And her 
beauty and strength appealed to him. Gad, she was a 
splendid girl ! And while Mary Meredith thanked 
God in new faith born of her supreme hour, the man, 
whose hand she touched in timid appropriation, thought 
of the child she had sheltered for him. 

‘‘ What a draw I It will pay me to keep friends ! ” 
The woman caught his look. 

Does she please you — dear ? ” she hesitated. 

He smothered the sensation of disgust at the touch 
of the cold fingers. 

She ’s a beauty ! ” he affirmed. 

She takes after you,” said the dying woman with 
a smile, and Marvel, who overheard, abhorred herself. 

Certainly, all things considered, Frank Meredith 
made himself at home. He ate and drank heartily ; 
threw words of praise to Marvel for her housewifely 
acts, and commended Mary Meredith for storing his 
favourite wines. After a good meal he would sink into 
his favourite chair, a relic of the Wilderness Inn, and 
talk eloquently of the world at large. Marvel, busy in 
her own small sphere, barely listened ; but the unduti- 
ful expression about her mouth deepened. 

The doctor came and went. One day he drew Marvel 
aside. ‘‘I’m sorry that I must return to town before 
the — end, but my holiday is over. She won’t suffer. 

She may linger some da3^s, possibly weeks — but ’ ’ 

Then Marvel knew that Max ought to come. But 


I Shall Have Had My Day 


1 1 1 


whom to send ? Tony volunteered, but Marvel shook 
her head. And there was no other man except her 
father. He did not count. Still Max must be brought. 

Mary Meredith had been restless all day, and turned 
a yearning face towards the evening sky. 

“You want Max,” said Marvel sweetly. “ Do you 
know, mother, I ’ve been thinking to-day I should like 
to go and meet him. I know every step of the way, 
and I ’d ask Cordelia Grey to stay with you till I come 
back.” 

The girl smiled brightly into the asking eyes. The 
woman stared till Marvel wished she might cover the 
glazing balls with her hand. She could n’t let her go 
out into the great silence without a last word of genuine 
love ! That trickster might fail her at the very last. 
She bent her soft cheek to the cold brow. The woman 
pressed her to her for a moment, then gently released 
her. 

“Yes, go, child, if you ’re not afraid ! ” 

Afraid ? Her heart bounded at the thought. Afraid 
where Wynn was ! Then she reminded herself that all 
else must be as nothing beside the care that no eclipse 
should put out the light of this woman’s late-risen sun. 

As she wandered along the shore that night and 
watched the moon ride over the peaks she told herself 
that she had left her girlhood behind her since that 
moonlight night three months ago when Wynn had 
come to her, singing over the water. She had not a 


I 12 


The Untold Half 


religious mind, she could see no good in this humbling, 
her youth rebelled against it ; things that puzzled her 
in the past puzzled her now. But out of her own 
heart-sickness she had learned pity for another 
woman. 

Into her incoherent thought one recollection came 
as the moon had come dispelling shadow — she had 
done what she was able to pay back, to return the 
giving. But the debt had been greater than she knew, 
and her instalments of selflessness were late begun. 

“ I beg your pardon. Miss Mewedith, but I just hap- 
pened to be passing by 

Marvel had started at the sound of his voice, but 
said between laughing and crying as she turned to 
him : ‘‘You always do happen to be passing by when 
there ^s anything disagreeable to be done — and I 
wanted to ask you a favour. ’ ’ 

He held her hand in both his, and his expression 
granted it, even to the giving of his life. 

“ Just so. Miss Mewedith ” 

“ But I always seem to be using you, Mr. Armstrong 
— I forget that I have no possible claim upon your 
kindness ’ ^ 

“ Oh, but I assure you. Miss Mewedith ” 

“ Yes, I know,” interrupted Marvel, drawing away 
her hand, ‘‘ but because people are good-natured that ’s 
no excuse why they should be imposed upon. It ^s not 
for myself I ask” — Tony’s face fell — ‘‘but for my 


I Shall Have Had My Day ” 113 

mother, and in doing this for her sake it will doubly 
oblige me. ’ ^ 

Tony’s mind leaped from one heroic deed to another. 
In imagination he was at his last gasp on a hero’s 
death-bed, when Marvel’s voice brought him back to 
common every day. 

‘ ‘ I think you know that my father is getting restless 
here. He must 7iot go yet, not till I return.” She 
spoke with slow and deliberate emphasis. ‘‘ Help to 
keep him ; you seem to amuse him.” 

Tony coughed and blinked his eyes in his effort to 
look innocently surprised. 

“ I assure you,” he stammered, a little game of 
poker, perhaps ? I — er — he — er — that is — we — er — have 
had a little game. Quite an expewience, q-quite out 
of the common wut, I assure you. Miss Mewedith ! ’ ’ 

Tony’s hand unconsciously went to his pocket. 

“ You have been a real friend to me, Mr. Armstrong. 
In the absence of Max may I tax your kindness a little 
more, then ? ’ ’ She smiled at him gently as she held 
out her hand. ‘ ‘ It may be for hours only, not days — 
perhaps I shall meet them at the head of the lake. In 
any case I can’t miss them, for I know the route so 
well.” 

I wish you had let me twy my luck. Miss Mewe- 
dith.” 

‘‘ You will serve me better here. Good-night — 

good-bye. ’ ’ She went a step, and came back. “ If I 
8 


The Untold Half 


114 

miss them, please ask Max to be patient with my 
father till she — his mother — does not know. Tell him 
I ask. But we must not miss — it is hardly possible ! ’ ' 

I sincerely twust not ; it is howwible to contem- 
plate ! You Te a bwave girl to go alone. Suppose you 
should miss ? ’ ^ 

Then I shall go as far as Milford Sound, rest at 
Southerlands, and return — that is, supposing the 
weather holds. 

And ifnot?’’ 

I shall stay till it clears, or camp in one of the 
Government huts — there 41 be plenty of provisions ; 
they have just been stocked, I know. There ’s nothing 
to be afraid of, there are no wild beasts up there — she 
smiled reassuringly at Tony’s anxious face — and no 
man would harm a girl. Besides, I ’ve done the jour- 
ney often for pleasure. And there ’s always Max, you 
know. I can’t be lost.” 

Good luck, then. Miss Mewedith. And don’t you 
twouble about Mr. Mewedith, I ’ll look after him.” 

He watched her tall figure with its graceful swing, 
now in the shadow of mountain and bush, now emerg- 
ing into the moonlight, but never faltering, never look- 
ing back. There was something suggestive to Tony 
of no compromise, no half-measure. 

She ’s vewy stwong ! ” he soliloquised, ” but her 
father ’s an awful old wogue ; still, there ’s a kind 
of poetical justice in the pwoceeds of the bwewewy 


I Shall Have Had My Day '' 1 15 

weturning to the source whence it came. ‘ That which 
the fountain sends forth wet urns again to the fountain. 
And if it enwich not the heart of another, its waters 
weturning back from the fount whence they came, shall 
fill it full of wefweshment. ’ My money ’s like love ! ” 
The little kitchen looked its cosiest to-night, and as 
Marvel entered it the familiar household things ap- 
pealed to her like the faces of old friends. She wan- 
dered from the kitchen to the sitting-room, made bright 
with Japanese fans and screens and draperies, a con- 
cession made to the girl by the woman. And her small 
bedchamber with its spotless muslins and flowered 
chintzes, how fragrant and fresh it was, flooded with 
moonlight and scented with late-flowering vine ! She 
leant from the window to gaze up the difiicult way 
that she must go ; she had made light of it, but she 
was appalled by the sudden realisation that she must 
be alone in the solitude of the fastnesses. If only Max 
would return to-night ! But if not she meant to go. 
And after it was all ended she would go away alone. 
She had wanted to go badly enough often, but it was 
different now. Still, how glad she was she had stayed; 
she had been able to do one little thing. My day 
will soon be over now. I can see well enough I ’ve 
been a sort of queen.” Her fingers snapped a twig of 
passion-flower. She held it to the light and looked at 
it mechanically. '' The nails, the cross, the crown,” 
she murmured unconsciously. Then a sudden under- 


The Untold Half 


1 16 

standing leapt to her eyes, her beautiful lips quivered 
and drooped. 

Ah, how the nails must have hurt ! she cried. 
‘‘ I should have come down. I could n^t have stayed 
there to suffer and be mocked ! ’ * 





CHAPTER X 

ON A I.ONG AND DISTANT JOURNEY 

I N the white mist of early morning Marvel pushed 
out her boat from the shore ; a phantom shore, 
enshrouded in a garment that part revealed and part 
concealed headland and cranny, mountain and forest. 
Ghostly peaks ; ghostly trees ; no stir of life in all the 
mountain solitude, and the deep-hearted lake lay under 
a pall, inert, lifeless. 

The girl turned her face up to the lowering sky, as 
though mutely asking mercy, then, with a swift, com- 
prehensive glance around, bent her back to her task. 

For two long hours the splash of oars was the onlj^ 
sound in that deep silence, except the occasional harsh 
cry of the kakapo from the unseen bush. Now a snow- 
peak was revealed cold and gleaming in the eastern 
light, then blotted out by the enwreathing vapours, a 
rugged shoulder of mountain thrusting through to be 
in turn enwrapped. Distance was not seen but felt ; 
the spirit of vast ness and space called through the 


ii8 


The Untold Half 


gloom ; then gradually little ripples of surface water 
were seen, pale gleams shone through the forest, an 
enchanting light crept along the shore and outlined the 
cliffs ; the mist-curtain was partly drawn, and crawling 
in among the undergrowth on the shore were delicate 
tints of amber, and up on the snow-fields flashes of 
purple and steel announced a risen sun. 

Myriads of cobwebs glistened among the bush like 
spun white silk, as Marvel, having fastened her boat, 
made her way round an arm of the lake by a zigzag 
path through a growth of underwood. The dark 
leaves and branches of the bush glistened with water- 
drops, and a rich aromatic scent of birchwood filled the 
air. The ripples of the lake murmured over the peb- 
bles, and the feeling of great loneliness was lightened 
by a distant sound of a woodman’s axe. Marvel halted 
for a moment as the sound arrested her attention, but 
went quickly on again as the deep barking of a dog 
gave domestic voice to the silence. A few more twists 
and turns and she came suddenly upon a hut-cottage 
built high upon piles on the margin of the lake. The 
cottage was built of logs, clinging to the bark of which 
were tufts of moss and bunches of dried forest leaves of 
amber and purplish brown. Three small windows faced 
the front, and a door, reached by a flight of rough 
wooden steps. The door stood open and Marvel 
ascended the steps ; reluctantly, pausing with back- 
ward glance. When she reached the door she stood 


On a Long and Distant Journey 119 

on the threshold and looked in. The room was long 
and low, the roof supported by rough pillars ; arched 
roof-pillars and plastered walls were painted with birds 
and flowers and stars. The glass of the windows was 
also painted ; on one, a white-winged yacht dipped to 
crested waves ; on another, Noah’s dove flew with an 
olive leaf, and on a third, Christ’s face looked out in 
mute anguish from beneath its crown of thorns. The 
room was simply and quaintly furnished with rough 
chairs and couches made from branches of trees and 
piled with coloured cushions. Drawn near the hearth 
where the bright logs smouldered was a small table 
spread with a white cloth. While Marvel hesitated, 
the figure of a girl stood at the doorway leading from 
an inner room. It was months since Marvel had seen 
Cordelia Grey, and her beauty struck her anew. Sur- 
prised to see her visitor, the girl looked a little startled, 
the deep serenity of her face moved to question. Her 
eyes shone like stars in a midnight summer sky, her face 
was fair with that ivory-like whiteness that is not pale- 
ness, her eyebrows were delicately marked and arched, 
and her thick fair hair, combed loosely from the low, 
broad forehead, hung in two thick plaits to her waist 
like Marguerite’s hair. Her gown was of a coarse white 
serge, half Quakerish, half nun-like in its style, fastened 
at the waist with a girdle. There was an aloofness, an 
exaltation about her look that set her apart from little 
things, yet drew the individual by its tenderness. 


120 


The Untold Half 


Her eyes were held by the vivid picture in the door- 
way. Marvel’s cheeks were crimson as the hooded 
cloak that fell to her knees ; clustering curls, damp 
with morning mist, peeped from under the hood ; the 
great dark eyes looked out half timidly. There was a 
rare attractiveness about her ; she brought the possi- 
bilities of the world and the flesh into this hermit re- 
treat. A slow smile of welcome lit Cordelia’s face — a 
face that looked as though no vanity nor any earth- 
sense had ever crossed it, nor misery, nor pain, nor vain 
desire. Its melancholy sweetness hinted at that leisure 
for contemplation which puts the individual in touch 
with the eternities. 

I did mistake thee for the sunrise,” she said, cross- 
ing the apartment with a swift movement, more like 
the sailing of a swan than walking. She drew Marvel 
in and stood beside her, tall as she, holding both hands 
and penetrating beneath the surface of her guest’s ex- 
pression with a power and sureness that Marvel knew 
and almost feared. All is not well with thee ; thou 
art in trouble,” she continued, the gentle ” thee ” and 
” thou” of the Quaker soothing the foreboding that 
irritated the other’s heart. She led her to the fire, un- 
fastened the red cloak, and stirring the logs to a blaze 
slipped to her knees and busied herself with making 
toast and tea and boiling eggs, talking meanwhile. 

My father is absent in town ; we are undisturbed. 
He has gone to vSell his pictures” — the faintest tinge 


If 


On a Long and Distant Journey 121 

of colour touched the ivory of her cheeks, then she 
added — ‘‘ if possible,” looking with a complaisant smile 
into Marvel’s face. 

Rumour — such faint voices of it as were wafted 
through this desolation — said that was not always 
possible, and that the absent artist was a little mad. 
This was Marvel’s first visit to the artist’s daughter ; 
they had met occasionally, but to Marvel Cordelia was 
not understandable. Her tranquillity, that triumphant 
sovereignty of spirit, was so fundamentally opposed to 
her own impetuosity that they seemed to dwell in 
different worlds. 

“ Yes, I ’m in trouble, and I ’ve come to you,” said 
Marvel, with her unmincing candour. And then she 
told about her father’s return, her step-mother’s illness 
and need of woman’s care, and her own proposed jour- 
ney. Before she had finished, Cordelia was moving 
lightly but quickly about the room, clearing away the 
remains of the meal, and coiling the long plaits of her 
hair closely to her head. 

'' Thou didst well to ask me,” she said at length. 
“ Go in peace. In two hours I shall be beside her, and 
will remain till thy return. Have no anxiety, neither 
for father nor mother. It is right for thee to go. Who 
didst thou say this strange artist was ? ’ ’ 

“ Wynn Winter,” answered Marvel sullenly, re- 
luctant to part with his name. 

‘ ‘ Wynn Winter / ’ ’ 


122 


The Untold Half 


It was an exclamation of subdued delight ; the tones 
of voice were a caress. Into the face and eyes came a 
look of eagerness that was a perplexity to Marvel. 

He is a great painter — my father must see him ! ” 
she affirmed. She looked quietly away from Marvel’s 
face to the painted walls and windows with a little in- 
dulgent smile, as though wondering what view a great 
critic would take of them. And as Marvel followed the 
girl’s eyes her own clouded — she hated the thought of 
Wynn seeing this quaint room with its indefinable 
touch of something akin to himself, and the girl in her 
heathenish habit, looking as though no smears, nor 
tears, nor any sort of grime had ever touched her. She 
tied a hood of serge over her closely braided hair, and 
Marvel tried to cheer herself by the thought of the in- 
elegance of this attire ; but the sapphire-blue eyes 
smiled back at her, illuminating the face under the 
simple hood, and her heart contracted with a jealous 
pang. 

Cordelia poured brandy into a flask, which she placed 
in Marvel’s wallet ; then locking the door behind them 
led the way to the shore. The mists had cleared, and 
Manapouri was deeply, darkly blue amid its encircling 
snows. 

Good speed ! ” said Cordelia, and as she bent to 
push off the boat, kissed Marvel on the mouth. Marvel 
flushed as from the kiss of a lover, but not with pleas- 
ure. Abnegation and self-surrender were new to her, 


On a Long and Distant Journey 123 

and she was smarting at the old wound of pride from 
favours accepted. She felt the reverse of grateful to 
the fate that should bring Cordelia into her life with 
any degree of intimacy, and the kiss seemed a sort of 
pledge. She felt as though she had been unexpectedly 
plunged into the position she least desired. 

She found when she grew quiet again that she had 
pulled vigorously to some distance, and that she had 
returned the bright and cheerful courtesy of the girl 
speeding to serve her with uncouthness. She looked 
back. Cordelia’s boat was moving quickly among 
gigantic shadows, a toy on the gleaming water. Marvel 
waved, and something white waved in return. Then 
a jutting headland divided them, and a breeze blowing 
favourably round the bend of the lake, the girl set her 
little sail and sped onward, alone in the universe, with 
the secrets and mysteries of nature and the human 
heart. 

Hemmed in on every side by gigantic mountains, 
that dipped sheer down into dark depths, the boat with 
its white sail and the red-cloaked girl seemed to be 
the only living things. Hugging the shore. Marvel 
scanned the surface of the lake with her dark, anxious 
eyes ; but for the tragedy underlying she would have 
rejoiced in this swift movement and sense of freedom. 
As it was, her spirits rose. The wind had blown away 
the mists, and a fragrance of changing scenes opened 
up before her. Every change of sky, every cloud that 


124 


The Untold Half 


floated, changed the colour of water and vapours, now 
into a flood of autumn gold, now into a wonderland of 
purple and green. Then the breeze rose, and white- 
crested wavelets spread, and flocks of cloud-birds passed 
over the blue canopy. 

With the waning day the wind fell, and, robbed of 
glint and sheen, the shadows were grey, and the mount- 
ains, grown higher at the head of the lake, were grim 
in black and white, and once again the mist came roll- 
ing down, obliterating and blotting out, while the little 
boat crept on, and the crimson cloak was dark and dim 
about the shadowy face. Then into the falling night 
came a radiance; the peaks whitened and gleamed, a 
silver light made luminous the edges of the cliffs, stole 
lower, and dusted the lake with steely flakes which 
piled in frothing rifts along the beach. It was a soft, 
indistinct, ethereal world, and as Marvel’s boat bumped 
upon the shore she sprang upon the pebbles, and made 
it fast in a languorous dream, partly the outcome of 
fatigue, in part the influence of the night. But she did 
not linger to admire ; turning from the shore, she sought 
the spot under the overhanging bush where Max on 
these journeys pitched his tent and usually left it until 
his return. Would it be there ? Her heart leapt at 
the thought. Should she see a light shining through 
the canvas ? She swayed and stumbled a little over the 
rough stones as the canvas of the tent shone among 
the dark bush ; but the light was without, not within, 


On a Long and Distant Journey 125 

and the leaping heart fell with a strange desolateness 
as she lifted the covering before the door and went in. 
From her wallet she took matches and a candle, and 
striking a light looked round. A rug was rolled in a 
corner beside a bed of fern. According to the unwrit- 
ten law of these parts a pile of dried fuel stood ready, 
and throwing it into a heap outside the tent Marvel set 
fire to it and standing before the blaze warmed her chill 
hands. Its ruddy glow leaped up and crimsoned the 
tent behind her, and lighted the forest, making great, 
quaint shadows on the rocks, and startled birds called 
to a fictitious sunrise. The warm light glowed upon 
the speaking face, and dyed to deeper red the gypsy 
cloak. The girl went down upon her knees and bent 
towards the blaze, enjoying its comforting warmth, 
then, filling a “ billy ” from the spring, ate and drank, 
and bringing the rug from the tent rolled it round her, 
and still sat on, thinking of the story that Wynn had 
told her of the Shawnee woman who followed a phan- 
tom lover. 

She had no thought of fear. Alone among the wilds 
no hostile influence hurt her, only despair and the 
deepest discouragement. Once she had found Max, 
and his mother was at rest, there was all the world be- 
fore her, but an empty world. Once she had craved to 
forsake, now she was forsaken. But sleep lulled her : 
she entered the tent and, rolling herself in the rug, 
threw herself on the fern mattress, and past, present. 


126 


The Untold Half 


and future were forgotten in the dreamless sleep of 
youth and health and weariness. 

At daybreak she woke and looked out on an inde- 
scribable world, new wonders revealing themselves on 
every hand. The mists were at their fantastic con- 
j uring again, sailing under clumps of trees, wreathing 
round snow-summits and unwreathing, now near, now 
far, and space was filled with melody of tumbling 
water. In an hour the girl had bathed and break- 
fasted, and with her bill-hook had chopped dry under- 
wood and left it for the next traveller, and strong and 
agile, filled with the new hope of a new morning, 
sprang to the toilsome path beside the Clinton River. 
The valley lay through a mighty forest, strewn with 
fallen giants, carpeted here with fallen boughs and 
gold and purple moss. Cataracts tore down the mount- 
ain-sides, and dashed in foam to the river. Ahead, 
a magnificent snow-cathedral reared its pinnacles, and 
seemed to shut off approach to a city of snow-spires 
and turrets around and beyond. Sometimes Marvel 
cleared a path through undergrowth with her bill -hook, 
now she forded a stream, or clambered over boulders 
and logs to the other side. The green light penetrat- 
ing the forest-aisles told that the sun shone ; vistas of 
gleaming colour, silver and yellow and purple from 
shining snow and rock and river, opened up, and tame 
blue ducks came and walked beside her a little, and 
timid wrens looked curiously out from leafy shelter. 


On a Long and Distant Journey 127 

At night she rested in a hut, where wood and food and 
blankets waited, and in the morning a brown Maori 
hen, with native curiosity, came in to keep her com- 
pany. Then on again through a weird forest gully 
between mountains of granite and marble to higher 
land by a ladder cut in rock, and over a precipice from 
verge to verge on fallen rock. But still no sign of liv- 
ing creature ; only the sound of the rising wind sway- 
ing the highest branches, and the rush of water ! 
Through the dusky splendours of the twilight, the 
silver of starlight and moonlight, the red cloak flitted, 
and as night and day passed all the awe of vast soli- 
tudes fell upon the girl’s spirit, a great yearning pos- 
sessed her for the sound of a human voice. But she 
had no thought of turning, and went on through cool, 
soft fern forest, walking over the green fronds ; then 
she surprised a tiny lake in a mountain basin, covered 
with pretty green ducks and pigeons. All the trees 
here were very old, and Marvel wondered if Wynn had 
lingered here to sketch this ancient world of white and 
brown, with white marble background. Time with its 
fleeting passion was mocked. Nature had silently 
fashioned for ages, twisting great trunks and boughs, 
piling the glittering snow, filing the glinting stone. 
Could the same being that fashioned this magnificence 
comprehend the ache at the heart of a girl ? 



CHAPTER XI 
m’kinnon’s pass 

N ight came down under the awful shadow of 
Mount Baloon. All day the girl had strained to 
reach the hut at its foot, panting, eager, apprehensive. 
She was exhausted ; her splendid strength and courage 
had been taxed to snapping point, the strained muscles 
quivered in the weary flesh, and when at last she 
neared the hut, its little window was unlighted ; it 
stood in ghostly, uninhabited isolation, a speck in the 
surrounding gloom. Marvel lifted the latch, and, at 
sight of the grey ashes on the hearth, threw herself 
into the bunk with a desolate cry. She had so hoped 
to meet Max and Wynn at this point. They must 
have loitered at Milford Sound ; probably Wynn was 
painting the great Southerland Falls. Ten more dread- 
ful miles of toilsome climbing — and over the awful 
pass ! How far away .she was ; how high above her 
little world of Manapouri ! She conjured the cottage 
with its ruddy light gleaming upon the water — why 
128 


M’Kinnon’s Pass 


129 


had she come ? And then the dying eyes looked into 
hers in the darkness, and with a stifled cry she stum- 
bled to her feet, and heaping the dry fuel on the hearth, 
set fire to it, the leaping flame dispelling gloom. After 
she had opened and warmed some tinned meat, had 
eaten of it and biscuits, and had made tea, of which 
she drank thirstily, she heated more water and bathed 
her weary limbs, then combing her long soft hair, she 
let it fall about her shoulders like a cloak. 

These woman’s acts beguiled her ; her old habits of 
neatness prompted her unconsciously. She set the 
hut in order, then, wrapping her cloak about her, 
opened the door and looked out. A hot wind had been 
blowing all day, and the unseasonable nor’-wester had 
melted the snow among the glaciers, and an awesome 
roar of water sounded as the rapids tumbled down the 
rocky mountains and thundered through dark ravines. 
She craned her neck and looked far up at the ice- 
temples. Their height and magnitude appalled her ; 
all her old fears gathered themselves about her ; a star 
laughed down upon her for a puny mite, an atom of in- 
significance among indescribable grandeur. She cov- 
ered her face with her hands. 

‘‘Max!” she murmured unconsciously, for Max 
loved these everlasting hills, understood nature and 
seemed one with it. But to the feeble human cry for 
mortal aid and companionship came the rumbling of a 

falling avalanche far off. 

9 


130 


The Untold Half 


When Marvel looked up again, the moon was climb- 
ing from the underworld to scale the highest ridge. It 
had not touched it yet, but a black cloud which capped 
it was backed by dazzling silver, and the lower snows 
were luminous with light. A moment more and curv- 
ing falls gleamed from surrounding darkness, then 
flashed in silver pathways down the black rock. A 
transformation scene of silver ! And through the 
magic light white spirits came — floating in the air, 
melting into the sky, riding on dark ridges, peopling 
the ravines. And to the watching girl it was Cordelia 
— Cordelia with her white gown and star-like eyes, dis- 
pelling darkness, bringing peace, illuminating, radiat- 
ing. Acting on a sudden impulse. Marvel put her 
hand to her mouth and sent the cry ‘‘ Cordelia ! ’’ far 
into the mountains. They took it up and echoed till 
peak called to peak, * ‘ Cordelia ! ’ ’ and away where the 
avalanches fell — ‘‘ ’delia ! ” 

Good speed ! cried Marvel again. 

‘‘ Good speed ! ’’ and where the untrodden snows 
were — ‘‘ Speed ! Speed ! ’’ 

The fancy and the play comforted, and she went in 
and slept soundly as though she were not alone, 
“ where none intrudes.’’ With the waning moon the 
wind rose again, and all the principalities and powers 
of the air warred together. 

Marvel with the first daylight sprang to her feet, the 
mountain echo of last night repeated in memory. 


M’Kinnon's Pass 


131 

‘‘ Speed ! ” The tumult made her tremulous, a chill 
sharpness in the air notified that the north wind had 
veered to south. She looked out fearfully ; yes, great 
clouds were marching in battle array over the heights. 
Before nightfall, certainly, perhaps before noon, a 
sou' -wester would rage. At this altitude it meant hail 
or snow. While she prepared a hasty meal, and re- 
plenished the wood-pile for the next traveller, a Maori 
hen came to be fed, and interfere generally with the 
domestic arrangements, carrying off a spoon in its 
bill, then returning for more biscuit. The bird was 
bigger than a fowl, without tail, brown, with fluffy 
feathers, long brown beak, and red legs. It was quite 
tame and fearless, knowing too little of the human 
species to fear. Hurried as she was. Marvel placed a 
little pile of food for its future comfort, and, shoulder- 
ing her knapsack, laced her long walking boots se- 
curely. Her blue serge skirt came only to her calves 
to meet her boots, and covered a divided skirt, for 
Marvel knew the toils of mountain journeying too well 
to impede her own progress. 

With bill-hook in hand she turned to M’Kinnon's 
Pass, and began the toilsome ascent. She had had too 
much practice in Alpine climbing to force her pace. 
With the quick eye of the mountaineer, she detected 
advantages and difficulties. The long spell of dry 
weather had made the road comparatively easy ; but 
should rain fall, in a few minutes she would be 


132 


The Untold Half 


drenched, and the pass a waterway. With slow and 
sure footing she advanced, the bleak black rocks over- 
hanging, the splendid snow-domes towering higher 
still. Up and up, sometimes in a weird mist-world, 
sometimes in rare white light, when, girl-like, she 
lingered to gather mountain flora, but always with the 
roar of cataract falling, and the wild wind. Sometimes 
caught in a terrific gust, she crouched for shelter as it 
went shrieking by, a fierce wailing spirit muttering 
imprecations as it went, and blinding snow-dust sti ng 
her face. She had calculated that she could do the 
ascent and descent into Milford Sound by nightfall, but 
toiling through the shadows, with the wreathing mists 
about her, limping, sick, and wounded, she realised 
that it was not possible. Up, up ! She turned and 
gazed around. Piled together in confusion, heaped in 
hundreds, were the snow-peaks. No world, no any- 
thing but this. 

Some nights ago, when thinking of a man who sacri- 
ficed, I should have come down,” she cried ; but now 
she had no thought of recantation. She did not dream 
that she also was suffering her cross ; if anyone had told 
her she would have been surprised. She was going for 
Max. His mother wanted him, and she was dying, 
and there was no man to send. Mary Meredith had 
been basely served, and life could only give her a very 
little joy at the best. There was no time to lose, be- 
cause, although for herself there were years and years. 


M’Kinnon’s Pass 


133 


everything was over and done for the mother of Max. 
So up and on ! 

The terrible wind robbed her of breath ; she quailed 
with terror at the darkening day. She had not reached 
the summit yet, and if the rain or snow fell, all that 
had gone before would be in vain. She would be 
prisoner, if indeed she reached shelter for the night. 
If not, then death. She had not thought to die, not in 
the flush of youth and beauty. She had come to serve 
one who must. A blast of wind struck her, and she 
lay face down till the hurricane had passed, then up 
again and on. Right and left the peaks towered 
above the lowering sky. The clamour and warfare in 
the air ceased ; it became ominously still, then sweep- 
ing down came the mist-curtain. She stood alone in 
the clouds. Nothing above, around, or beneath. She 
felt the track with her feet, stumbled, fell, rose again, 
and strained up among the silence of ice-fields. Snow ! 
One flake falling on another, thicker and faster — per- 
haps in the valley there was gentle rain. The home- 
fires were lighted, and she was here on the cruel 
mountain-top, the only living soul in all that white, 
still world. And there was no returning, and no pro- 
ceeding, and yet she blindly staggered on. 

“ A little farther,'' she was saying in her heart, 
though her limbs were numbed and the blinding flakes 
were stinging her cheeks and covering hair and hood 
and cloak with feathery down. By and by she would 


134 


The Untold Half 


rest, she must rest. She would go to sleep somewhere 
and get warm. She had heard — was it Max who had 
told her ? — that one got quite warm under the snow. 
Why was she straining on, what striving for ? The 
numbed brain and aching feet were almost spent. She 
had been so quick to start ! Failed ? had she failed ? 
She could not tell ; at least she had tried. Then sud- 
denly the deadened nerves thrilled, the chill blood 
leapt at her heart, warmed, rebounded. A light ! a 
little window gleaming in the snow- wild ! A cry rang 
through the silence. She stumbled to the hut and 
lifted the door-latch. A flood of light dazzled her. A 
man in velveteen jacket sat before the roaring logs, 
singing : We We very wide awake ^ the moon and 1 
‘‘ Wynn ! ” cried Marvel, in a voice that came from 
all her pent-up love and blessed relief. 

He stared for a dazed moment at the figure in the 
doorway silhouetted against the falling snow, then 
sprang forward. 

Marvel ! My God ! Marvel, child, you — He 
drew her in, and she leaned against his breast, while 
he bent over her, amazed, incredulous, devouring every 
feature in his eager surprise. 

Marvel — you ? Dear girl, what is it ? ” 

I came for Max,’' she sighed, and closed her eyes. 
Wynn half carried her to the fire ; but for his en- 
circling arm she would have fallen. The long strain 
removed, her brain grew dizzy with sudden relief. She 


McKinnon's Pass 


135 


could not speak, but she felt the man’s heart thumping 
under her cheek, and realised with an ecstasy of com- 
fort that it was all right, his strength would not let her 
slip. She heard through the whirling and confusion 
of her brain reassuring and stammered phrases, and she 
cried out involuntarily, as one cries to an unknown 
power in time of trouble. 

Wynn laid her on the warm hearth, touching and 
chafing her cold hands and cheeks, supporting her, lift- 
ing her up, removing her sodden cloak and boots, and 
pouring spirit between her white lips, drawing the beau- 
tiful head to his knee, its wealth of hair falling about. 
At last she had riveted his attention. There was only 
one question in his pale, set face. Why was she here ? 

^ ^ Max ? ’ ’ she queried when she could speak. 

‘ * He has gone ! Lie still — he went days ago. Why ? 
what ’s the matter? Rest, I tell you, child ! ” He 
gently pressed her head against his knee. 

Gone ? Gone home ? Thank God ! Thank God ! ” 

There was such fervent relief and gladness in the 
trembling voice that he bent down to look into the 
pallid face. 

'' His mother is dying ! ” she said, turning to look 
up at him. And I am young — and strong — stronger 
than you know,” she said feebly. 

There was such yearning and sorrow in the upturned 
eyes that Wynn marvelled. He did not comprehend, 
and he was all aquiver from the sudden surprise and 


The Untold Half 


136 

shock she had given him. But one comprehension 
came clearly through the confusion : she had come so 
far, on such a journey alone, that Max might see his 
mother. 

For a time neither spoke. Marvel was occupied with 
thought not for utterance, staring into the fire, which 
shone on the bronzed head, picking out gold. Wynn, 
his features sternly composed, looked down upon her. 
She stirred uneasily, then, with a sudden flushing of 
the pale cheeks, attempted to rise. AVynn gravely and 
gently helped her up, placing a stool near the Are. 
She sank down upon it and turned her eyes away, lest 
he should see their light, and while he went slowly to 
bring her food she broke into bitter weeping. A sound 
of smothered sobs brought him back to her. 

“ Don’t cry,” he said gently, standing helplessly by. 

She threw back her hair over her shoulders and lift- 
ing up her face smiled through her tears. No, I ’ll 
not cr}^,” she said ; ‘‘ there ’s nothing to cry for, now 
Max will be in time. I ’m a little tired, that ’s all. 
And it ’s been so lonely, and the snow came on — ” 
Her voice choked. 

He touched her hair, and she imprisoned his hand 
with her own and laid her soft cheek against it. 

“I’d almost given in when I saw the light — I did n’t 
expect you here — thought you ’d stayed at Milford. I 
must have passed Max in the mist on the lake. Have 
you remained behind to paint ? ” 


M’Kinnon’s Pass 137 

Yes,” he answered. His voice was so husky that 
he cleared his throat and said again, ‘‘ Yes.” 

She had surprised him often, but she had surprised 
him most to-day. She had come on this difficult pil- 
grimage to serve a woman whom she did not love. 
And all her defiant bearing had sunk to a sort of de- 
spair. Never before had such gentle emotion for her 
touched his heart. He looked at her in vague uneasi- 
ness and perplexity, sitting there so quietly, with 
tremulous mouth and eyes turned away, with a stern 
expression of subdued suffering in her attitude. She 
was conspicuous in her beauty, but seemed unconscious 
of it, and of her bare feet resting on the coarse sack 
that was thrown in front of the fire. 

He released his hand and busied himself in preparing 
food for her, bribing her by words and little attentions 
to eat and drink. After her meal she remained still 
silent, surrendering herself to the secret joy of his near- 
ness. She trembled still from the remembrance of his 
arms about her, and while she looked so grave and 
passionless he hovered near, thinking grateful thoughts 
of her. He had gazed upon mysterious and enchanted 
Nature till his eyes ached with splendour ; he had 
worked with passion, inspiration, exaltation ; all that 
had baffled him had receded, and as he sat conjuring 
his dream picture she stood at the door with that 
desperate look of fighting in her face that he had seen 
in his vision^ and the mist and snow about her hair. 


The Untold Half 


138 

The artist was still sharing with the man. But how 
about her position here with him alone ? 

No thought came to her of the strangeness of it ; she 
was too tired to criticise or analyse. The experience 
of the past days, with their terror and solitude and 
strenuous effort, had culminated in grateful acceptation 
of warmth and companionship. 

I ’m so glad,” she said, breaking the silence, 
‘ ‘ that Max has gone ! ” 

She had no thought, he saw, except for the meeting 
of mother and son. 

“ He is at Manapouri long before now. I stayed to 
study the mist effects.” He moved about uneasily and 
peered through the tiny window. ‘‘ Snowing hard ! ” 
he muttered. 

She shuddered, and came to his side, peering over 
his shoulder. He felt her breath upon his neck, her 
soft bosom touched his shoulder. She was absorbed in 
the night and did not notice his face. 

‘‘You are not afraid ? ” he asked in a curious voice. 

She turned quickly to look at him, pushing back her 
hair. “ Oh, but I am ! ” she answered him in simple 
truth, meeting his eyes with pupils wide with her 
thought. “ I am afraid. Once I laughed at fear, but 
somehow — perhaps I ’m a little tired — all the awfulness 
of these mountains has got into my heart, and last 
night, when I lay beneath the shadow of Mount 
Baloon, I trembled with fear. One feels so helpless. 


M’Kinnon’s Pass 


139 


of no importance, it seems no use to wish and waste 
breath in prayer. God does not measure time, and 
we ’re always in a hurry for what we ask ! ” 

He smiled. His grey eyes lightened. ‘ ‘ So you did n’t 
say your prayers last night ? ’ ’ She shook her head. 

“ I rested all I could, and just came on.” 

You fatalist ! ” he said, still watching her ; and 
honest through and through ! Well, if there was less 
intercession and more individual effort, there ’d be 
bigger results ! ” 

She looked at him earnestly. ‘‘ It must be nice to 
have something definite to do,” she said presently. 
She went back to the fire and gazed into it abstractedly. 

“ I did n’t tell you my father had returned,” she said 
abruptly, not looking his way. 

No ! ” He went forward, interested. 

Yes, he sneaked back like he sneaked off. Tony 
took him for a burglar ” — she laughed curiously — and 
he was n’t far out : he came to steal from the woman 
he ’d robbed before, and I threatened to kill him.” 

Wynn was startled by the passion in her voice. Her 
face flushed and her eyes sparkled. She looked at him 
squarely. He moved nearer. They stood absorbed in 
each other. He had grown familiar with her moods 
in the days of their intimacy in his studio, but this 
was a new one. 

‘‘ Girl ! ” he said reprovingly and yet with gentle 
emphasis. 


140 


The Untold Half 


‘ ‘ He is a coward ! ’ ^ she went on, removing some dead 
leaves from the velvet coat he wore, her eyes bent on 
his sleeve. He could not tell whether she spoke in ex- 
tenuation of her thought, or meant to imply that she 
had only used the threat to subdue. 

He had done harm : he was to blame, and she had 
waited for his coming so long, and the shock was too 
much. So I told him if he — would pretend — to love 
her, I ’d give him all the money I ^d got.” 

Her looks stole up to his face to see how he took the 
announcement, torn between her hope that he would 
not despise her for being the child of such a man and 
her fear that he would blame her. She patted and 
brushed his sleeve nervously. He laid his hand upon 
her restless fingers. 

* ‘ Dear girl, ’ ’ he said pityingly, and his eyes were soft . 

“ Oh ! ” she cried appealingly, ‘ ‘I was so afraid you 
would n’t understand ! Max will be angry. There ’ll 
be trouble when his mother is not there ; for her sake 
he ’ll choke his anger down, but it will blaze up all the 
fiercer afterwards.” 

‘‘ And you ? ” 

She gazed up at him, surprised and fascinated. That 
he should think of her was a new revelation. 

‘‘ Me ? ” she queried ; then her face blanched sud- 
denly, and her eyes were piteous. “ Oh, I shall go.” 

‘‘ Not with him ? ” he asked sharply. 

‘‘ Not with him,” she answered, a strange quiet and 


M’Kinnon s Pass 


141 

dignity coming into her manner as she moved away. 

I shall go alone — I ’ve always wanted to see the 
world.’’ She threw the door open as she spoke, and a 
gust blew into the room. Oh, how it snows ! ” 

He joined her where she stood, the blinding drift 
whirling in their faces. All the world was blotted out. 
They two were shut in on the mountain-top alone. She 
shuddered. 

But for you,” she said, I should be lying out 
there under the snow. ’ ’ 

He drew her in and shut the door, shaking the flakes 
off his coat impatiently. Don’t make me your provid- 
ence ! ” he said gruffly; “ I want saving myself.” 

She laughed a little, and shook the snow from her 
hair. This was her compensating bliss, to have him 
from all the world for these few hours. Gold could not 
have purchased what the blind storm compelled. She 
had come a lonely way for conscience’ sake, and it had 
ended here. She had done what she could, and think- 
ing would not place her beside Mary Meredith’s bed. 
And before the light was quenched from her youth for 
ever it was to shine for a little. 

She looked at Wynn for a long time unobserved. 
His fair head was bent, he was straining his eyes 
through the blurred glass. 

“ Won’t you come and sit down and talk to me ? ” 
she asked. 



CHAPTER XII 

UNTRODDEN SNOW 

‘‘ ' I ^AEK to you ? ’' he said, turning instantly. Of 
1 course I will ! ” He seated himself leisurely 
upon a stool, facing her on the hearth, his legs crossed, 
his delicate, well-kept hands clasping his knee. It 
struck Marvel how spick-and-span he looked with his 
pale-blue flannel shirt and brown velveteen coat. The 
men she had known did not dress as carefully alone 
upon the mountain-top as though expecting company. 
Every instinct of the girl gathered to approve him. 
Her heart showed itself in her eyes ; but he did not 
read them, he was listening to the storm. The wind 
moaned about them, a gust blew down the broad chim- 
ney and puffed out smoke and sparks. 

Here 's a state of things!^' he quoted from his 
favourite Mikado. The smile that accompanied the 
words was faint, and melted as he met the girl’s eyes. 
She was overwhelmed, he thought, by consideration 
of her position ; but, instead, worship and entreaty were ^ 


142 


Untrodden Snow 


143 


crying out to him that he would not tire of her for a 
little while, although there was nothing of hers that 
could hold or satisfy him. Her throat was dry with 
the ache of her heart, but she smiled with appealing 
sweetness. 

Indeed, I shall think of it years and years, until I 
come to die,” she said, controlling her voice so that he 
did not comprehend. 

‘‘It is hard on you,” he responded with emotion, 
but he did not speak of what she had been thinking — 
her world was not his conventional world. He spoke 
from the commonplaces. 

She laughed, and he looked up. ‘ ‘ It may be hard 
on both of us if this storm keeps on. I take it you 're 
not afraid to die, but what do you say to the snow being 
piled on you ; piled so high above the hut that no one 
could find us if they came ? ’ ’ 

The colour of the fire seemed to flame beneath her 
skin, her eyes to catch its light. He nursed his knee, 
and studied her. She did not fear the thing he con- 
jured ; no, she was not afraid. 

“ I should not make a row,” she said quietly. But 
when he looked into the fire again it was a red blind- 
ness. His world, his goal within sight, was he to 
lose ? — to be crushed out by the blind, unreasoning 
force of the storm ? Her mind, as always, robbed him 
of part of its freedom ; she communicated to him always 
some check on the spontaneity in himself. As if to put 


144 


The Untold Half 


her in the right, the wind took the little hut in its 
hands, and shook it as though in savage determination 
to overthrow. Had it been worth while to learn and 
work ; to sow if he might never reap ? 

She knew she had stabbed him somehow ; his delicate 
nostrils quivered. She watched curiously, at a loss for 
a clue. He met her eyes. 

How cold you are ! ” he cried, protest in his voice, 
impatience in his eyes. “You sit there like a statue, 
and calmly talk of all things ending for us “ 

“ Because I don’t care ! ’’ she interjected. 

He had risen, and waved aside her interruption im- 
patiently. 

‘ ‘ They shall 7iot end — shall not ! Do you hear, girl ? 
shall not ! I defy the storm to blot either of us from 
the face of the earth as though we had not lived.’’ 

“ Are you mad ? ’’ she asked. 

“No,’’ he said, with a sudden quiet and curious 
smile, “ I am as sane as I ever have been, and deter- 
mined. ^ A man’s works live after him,’ and while we 
are cut off from all the world I will paint my picture. 
If we die, don’t you see we shall yet live ? It is so 
puny to be wholly done with by the worms.’’ 

She saw his meaning now — his art was to claim him 
even in this hour, her rival still. She woke with a 
clear mind from her little dream of happiness — she 
could not content him even for an hour. 

“ Marvel,’’ he said, pleading for the truth and right 


Untrodden Snow 


145 


that was in him, I never was a peaceful soul that 
could sit down and say, ‘ It is the will of God,’ and 
not fight what seemed inevitable. And I ’m not con- 
tent for blind, blundering Nature to put her foot on my 
intention and stamp it out. If die it is, I ’ll work till 
the last. Prayer won’t avail us, girl ; work is the only 
thing.” 

” And what of me — don’t I count in anywhere ? I 
suppose not ! God Almighty made the man first, and 
he ’s taken precious good care to keep his place ! ” 

‘ ‘ Be quiet ! ” he said, holding her by the arm. ‘ ‘ The 
first time I met you you made me weak by scoffing ; 
you shall not weaken me again — in spite of you I will 
do what I will do. I am wearier than death of this 
baffling. Whether I live after this work or no, it shall 
be done ! ” 

His voice was low, his face tense ; the fingers that 
closed upon her arm did not hurt her, but they closed 
firmly. There was a tumult in the dark face that bent 
to meet the fair one. His breath came against her 
face, and a quick heat stirred her blood. 

“ Marvel,” he said huskily, “I’m under the greatest 
obligation to you ; you and your beauty have done 
more for me than I can ever put into words — there 
is n’t anything could repay you. The sight of you as 
you stood at this door means — Lord ! girl, I can’t tell 
you what it means ! It has given me almost all I 


want.” 


146 


The Untold Half 


His voice shook, his eyes caressed her ; he held out 
a trembling hand. But she had seated herself again, 
and gazed abstractedly into the fire, her hands folded 
upon her knee, her little bare feet planted in front of her. 
She looked composed ; in reality her heart was thump- 
ing under her red bodice. What more would he ask ? 

His eagerness increased. “ I have conceived a pict- 
ure of you fighting through the storm, with wind-torn 
garments rent from your limbs. I should call it ‘ A 
Spirit of Storm . Will you be my model ? ” He was 
pale with emotion. All his heaven seemed to hang 
upon her answer, and she sat immovable. Was it the 
firelight or the red blood that dyed face and neck ? 
He went on eagerly, standing near her : 

‘‘ There are difficulties in your mind, naturally. 
Dear girl, I want to smooth them away. You have 
been very generous ; have placed your trust in me 
almost without reserve. Have I sinned against it ? 
Nay, I have reverenced you. The true artist is a be- 
ing with a complex nature ; he has an sesthetical ap- 
preciation and judgment of what is a necessity to his 
art ; an approbation of beauty, and pleasure in it quite 

apart from the accident of personal character 

She interrupted him with a queer little hysterical 
cry, half laugh, half moan. 

That face of yours, he blundered on, ‘‘ those per- 
fect hands and feet, are not personal to me, but are the 
medium of imagination ; I regard them, as I have said, 


Untrodden Snow 147 

with the artistes reverence and you with deepest grati- 
tude. Can you bestow more ? ’ ’ 

Marvel had been tortured and angered in the past by 
his indifference : the eyes that glanced past her, the 
impersonal tones. She felt the torture of this almost 
beyond endurance. She shook off his hand. 

Why should I ? 

‘‘There is no why,'’ he declared, “except to en- 
rapture that aesthetical sense of the thousands who 
would owe you so much. As for me, I am your life- 
long debtor already. But there will be a way to show 
you how I appreciate. Marvel," the man’s rich voice 
went on, “it is not possible to owe so much and not 

repay. All the coming years would be weighted ’ ’ 

“Oh, you ’ve discovered that?'"'' she interrupted 
with a short laugh ; ‘ ‘ and yet you want to increase the 
load.’’ 

He gave an impatient exclamation, and strode to the 
other end of the hut. A step or so did it ; the distance 
was not far enough to work off his spleen. He came 
back again and stood with his hands in his pock- 
ets, looking down at her, puzzled what next to say. 
Her forlornness tugged at him. “ Good Lord !’’ he 
thought, ‘ ‘ go and reap all the fruit and leave her un- 
helped, to tug up hills of difficulty, as she had tugged 
up M’Kinnon’s Pass ? Not to be heard of ! ’’ 

“ Poor little woman ! ’’ he said suddenly, laying his 
hand gently on her hair. “ I wish you ’d let me be 


148 


The Untold Half 


your friend. It ’s a difficult sort of world for a girl 
like you to fight single-handed. You ’re too young, 
and beautiful, and proud.” 

He knelt to mend the fire. It had burned to a glow, 
and left them in twilight, and in some unexplained way 
the shadowy figure of the girl worried him ; the strong 
resolute outlines opposed the new influence that pos- 
sessed him concerning her. He wished the woman 
who had ministered to his art to be a happy woman. 
He would like to give her her heart’s desire as she was 
granting his. What was her heart’s desire? To see 
the civilised world ? How easy that would be ! His 
mind was in the dark concerning her, and his instinct 
was to see her with physical eyes ; he placed twigs 
across and across. The wood crackled and caught, 
blazed up and revealed her, shining upon her hair and 
into her eyes, revealing every curve of bust and limb, 
her shapely ankles and feet. 

A few hours ago she had but made the background 
of his thought, but her personal presence with its mag- 
netic force had made itself felt. He tried to look into 
the averted eyes that seemed intent upon the twigs. 

'' Poor little feet ! ” he said, by and by, laying his 
hand upon them. 

The big eyes lifted slowly and looked at him quietly. 
He removed his hand and stood up. 

“ Woe ’s me ! ” he sighed, “ for one unworthy to 
help you 1 Am I never to repay ? ’ ’ 


Untrodden Snow 


149 


‘^You asked, and I gave,'’ she said, with simple 
grandeur of manner. “ There was nothing more ! ” 

“ How you must dislike me ! ” 

“Do I?” The brown eyes were uplifted again. 
Their expression hurt him. 

“ You must ! ” he affirmed, “ for you will remember 
that you once said to me that if you hated anyone you 
would put him under an obligation.” 

“ I tried to spare you ! ” 

“ Indeed you did! ” he ejaculated with a short laugh. 
“ Do you know that I ’ve never done so much suing in 
all my life before. I ’ve always had you to woo ” 

She turned such a dimpling, smiling face towards him 
that he forgot to finish his sentence in the enchantment 
of it. He made a half-involuntary movement forward, 
then turned abruptly. 

“ It ’s time for supper. I give you fair notice,” he 
added, talking hurriedly and at random, “ that if we 
can’t get out of this to-morrow I shall strike ; I ’ll be 
chef \,o-n\g\]X and be your obedient servant, but after a 
good night’s rest I shall assume the prerogative of a 
lord of the creation, and give my commands.” 

“You ’ll never order me about,” she declared 
lightly, springing with relief to his change of mood. 

“ No?” he demanded, suspending operations on a 
tongue with a tin-opener, throwing her a challenging 
glance over his shoulder. 

“ Never ! ” she affirmed. 


150 


The Untold Half 


He bumped the tin and the tongue came out neatly. 
Arranging it precisely in the middle of the metal plate 
that did service as a dish, then wiping his fingers, he 
went the step or so back to her. She had risen, and 
folded her arms lightly, one foot planted in front of the 
other, her loosened hair falling below her waist. She 
was half smiling, half defiant, wholly in earnest. He 
was dismayed to find how strong an impulse came to 
take her in his arms and kiss the rebellion from her 
lips. Surprised, she saw the colour mount to his brow, 
and then leave him pale. 

Why do you always fight me ? ’’ he asked her pre- 
sently ; ‘ ‘ why have you never liked me ? ’ * 

‘ ‘ Why ? ' ’ she echoed in a strained, almost fierce 
voice, clasping her hands behind her, her eyes nearly 
on a level with his own. ‘ ‘ Perhaps I ^m jealous ; you ’ ve 
got so much, you see, and I only wanted to be of gentle 
blood. Till you came, and showed me the difference, 
I was not unhappy, although I was not content,’’ — her 
lips quivered, her voice broke in a pathetic note, — ‘‘ but 
now I hate the very thought of that world of gifts and 
talents. Why should n’t I have had my share ? ’ ’ Her 
voice had gained firmness, her eyes clearness. 

‘‘ Dear girl,” he answered, puzzled at this new view 
of her which she presented, you are a queen ! If you 
knew as much of the world as I do you would despise 
it.” 


‘'You don’t despise it.” 


Untrodden Snow 


151 

It was true, he did not. 

If you did,'* she resumed, ‘‘ you would n’t think 
so much of its opinion. I know you ’re a great man, 
but you ’re selfish for all that. The wind is a great 
power, but it ’s cruel : it breaks and bends and sweeps 
away in an hour what it ’s taken years to grow. And 
it seems to me that genius can be like that.” 

** Am I arrogant ? ” he interrupted. 

She faced him fearlessly. ‘ ‘ If arrogant is to assume 
rights that are none of yours, you ’re arrogant enough. 
All that ’s in the heavens above and on the earth be- 
neath does n’t seem too much for you to ask ; the sun 
and stars were made for your art ; you take friend- 
ship ” — she gulped down the word love,” — smiles, 
beauty, all in your day’s work, seeing nothing in itself 
and for itself, but always something beyond it, or it 
may be beneath it ! ” 

‘‘ Not beneath it ! ” he exclaimed hotly. ‘‘ My 
God ! I am no panderer to the mob, no base tickler 
of a vulgar taste. I have never given myself up — 
given my art to coarseness. If I myself am selfish — 
say what you will of me, personally I may deserve your 
scorn ! If I have claimed as my right all that the 
Creator made, it is my right, my right and yours, 
the right of any man, the privilege, if he have the 
spark of the poet within him, to refuse the common, to 
reach for the ideal, to discover grandeur, and to 
indicate it ! ” 


152 


The Untold Half 


He felt, while the hot words broke from him, that 
she did not fully understand him, and she, looking at 
him, flushed, transformed, feeling the thrill of his emo- 
tion, yet not in touch with its source, realised the differ- 
ence between them, that her desires were vain and his 
were vast. She felt bitter and beaten because she was 
not a lady, did not stand upon his social pedestal ; but 
whoever his father and mother might have been he 
would have been himself ; the supernal Are that burnt 
within him was like the bush which the angry Moses 
saw — its flame was in itself and it could not be con- 
sumed. 

With a dramatic gesture, as though to put him from 
her, she put out two protesting hands, and seated her- 
self at the table of logs. He watched her mechanically 
as she touched up the rough board with deft move- 
ments, humbled by her disapprobation. Her strong 
nature had force, she had brought him down again 
from exaltation ; made his genius seem but a common 
necessary vent for personal gratiflcation ; an obligation 
imposed upon his will by his own disposition. What 
were imagination and work after all but an expression 
of self? 

After a pretence of eating, they turned again to the 
fire. 

“ I We made you miserable,” she said contritely, 
putting her hand upon his shoulder. He bent his lips 
and kissed it without passion. “ Don’t mind me — I ’ve 


Untrodden Snow 


153 


got a horrid temper, and the sight of you aggravates 
me sometimes. Don’t be vexed.” 

” Of course not, girl. But I wonder why I worry 
you?” 

She turned away and stood before the fire. He 
looked as though he wanted to know. 

“You ask a girl to set aside decency, and wonder 
why you worry her ! ” she said in a dull tone. ” My 
manners are bad, perhaps, but I know what ’s seemly, 
and I ’m dear enough to myself to see that the model 
of your picture would n’t be placed to advantage in the 
opinion of the world whether we get out of this or not. 
If we do get out, I ’ ve got my way to make, and accord- 
ing to your own showing it won’t be over roses. If we 
do not get out, there are one or two who would care, 
and they must n’t be hurt. Either way, I ’m too proud 
to need any explanation.” She lifted her eyes and 
looked at him. ” You ’ve said a deal one way and 
another about inspiration, and fine feelings, and grand- 
eur. Come now, Wynn Winter, I have given you your 
side ; don’t you think there ’s something to be said for 
the fine feelings of a girl, something grand in her mod- 
esty, something inspiring as the untrodden snow ? ” 

Her attitude and gestures enforced her words ; she 
had risen, and her haunting eyes pleaded for her 
woman’s birthright. She was so downright she made 
platitudes awkward. 

“ We ’ve done a bit of Bible quoting, you and I, 


154 


The Untold Half 


since first we met/' she proceeded, though neither 
of us is religious, and to-night you 've been like the 
Tempter to me, who showed me all the things that ever 
I wanted — except one — why I should cast myself down. 
I ’ll never do it, never — except — ” For your 

love,” she had all but said. She moved hastily to the 
door : the wind blew gustily, a white drift half blocked 
the space, and great wails came from deep ravines. 

I ’d rather be out there ! ” she said, and turned her 
white face to his. He drew her in and closed the door. 

But as neither of us can get away, where shall I 
sleep ? ” 

In the bunk,” he answered, and I ’ll curl up here 
before the fire.” 

Action was a relief. He instinctively sprang to serve 
her. She might have been a duchess in that way she 
had of compelling service. He was busy quite a long 
time shaking up the fern bed and improvising a pillow. 
The lion of more than one Tondon season was desper- 
ately anxious to make a soft nest for this child of 
Nature. Divested of affectation how simple we are at 
heart ! How much stronger Mother Nature holds us 
than educated refinement ! 

He curtained the bunk off with a blanket and piece 
of stout string. 

There ! ” he said when it was done. 

She held out her hand. '' Good-night ! ” 

Good-night ! ” He pressed it reassuringly, held 


Untrodden Snow 


155 

it for a moment, then let it go. She slipped behind 
her curtain. 

‘‘ Watchman, what of the night ? ’’ she heard him 
say, and she knew by the swaying of the blanket that 
he had opened the door and gone out. 

In a few moments Wynn was covered with snow. 

Here ^ s a pretty mess,^^ he sang from his favourite 
Mikado^ putting a good deal of meaning into the line. 
He looked right and left as he wandered off a few paces, 
but he could see nothing except the shining window of 
the hut. 

* ^ If it had not been for you I should have been lost ! ’ ’ 
he heard Marvel’s voice say. He stamped about and 
hummed again. 

Here ' s a state of things. To her life she clings ! ” 
then summing up the whole matter, he concluded em- 
phatically : Here ' s a pretty state of things, A pretty 
state of things ! ’ ’ 

When he re-entered the hut, he trod softly as though 
on holy ground. He put his great-coat near the fire to 
dry, then spreading a rug upon the hearth, lay down 
before the glowing logs. His keen eyes were wistful, 
they saw pictures in the fire : a vast city with glittering 
domes and spires ; a crowd of people ; a girl with 
hooded cloak wandering forlornly ; a mountain pass, a 
solitary figure climbing. He covered his eyes with his 
arm. 

It was an hour of extreme depression, an hour of re- 


156 


The Untold Half 


bound — all workers know it — when the thing dreamed 
of, toiled and sacrificed for, seems suddenly worthless 
and out of reach. The sensitiveness of the artistic 
nature had been chilled by Marvel’s adverse criticism. 
She had found him on a mountain- top of inspiration 
and hurled him down. 

A deep breath caught his ear, half sigh, half sob. 
He raised himself upon his elbow and listened. An- 
other breath and another. 

“ Asleep ! ” he whispered, and half smiled. 

Poor child ! How alone she was ! A woman Ishmael 
— her hand was against every man and every man’s 
hand was against her ! Wayward, strong, ingenuous, 
sweet, how would the world treat her ? 

She stirred and sighed. Her movement drew him, 
he listened with bated breath. The little cabin was 
full of the feel of her, like a sweet perfume. 

So — tired ! ” he heard her say, and drew his rug 
over his ears like a gentleman. He felt like listening 
at a keyhole. 

Poor girl, she ’d often be tired before she got through, 
he thought. The world for such as she would n’t be 
all down and roses. Why would she not marry Tony 
and escape dire straits ? 

“ Wynn! ” said the sleeping girl. He uncovered his 
head and sat up. Marry Tony I Good heavens, no I 
She was too splendid, superb in her way. A year or 
so abroad and what a sensation she would make in 


Untrodden Snow 


157 


society ! He believed she would like it. He stood up 
and shook himself, then listened. Her breath came at 
regular intervals, and then she murmured : 

“ I shall be warm under the snow ! ” 

The voice was toneless, like a sleep-talker’s : it made 
Wynn shudder. He listened for a long time without 
pretence — he wanted to hear. But only long-drawn 
breaths. Warm under the snow ? Well, possibly they 
would be there together. There were only provisions 
for a week. Dear little chum ! they were likely to put 
in a rough time together. And what of his ambitious 
dreams ? The girl was right — the Almighty had been 
before them and would be after. He found himself 
straining his ears for her slightest movement ; her 
regular breathing was the only sound. How long he 
listened he never knew. At last, he moved softly to 
the curtain and lifted it. She lay with one white arm 
thrown over her head ; her hair made bright confusion 
on the pillow ; the sad, sweet mouth was partly open, 
the rounded throat bare ; one little white foot was 
thrust from the rough blue blanket. 

He stood for a long time, then became conscious that 
he was sinning against her trust. He let the curtain 
fall, and lay down on his blanket again ; and in the 
heart of the glowing logs he saw his picture once more 
— the great troubled eyes, their defiance and appeal ; 
the splendid limbs straining up the steep. It would 
win his world and lose hers ; but why not make their 


The Untold Half 


158 

world one ? Why not marry her ? Why not share 
with her so ? He started up alert. The thought in its 
newness startled him. She was not of gentle birth ; 
true, but she was herself. Her defence of her maiden 
modesty had stirred and pleased him — she rang true. 
But he did not love her, not as he had dreamed one 
day of loving. That one first, last, and divinest miracle 
of two souls made one had never yet been wrought for 
him. His look became dreamy as though he gazed 
upon a vision. Rousing with a sigh he asked another 
question. Would Marvel marry him ? He pondered it 
for long, and then her voice called again. 

Wynn ! 

“ It is Fate,'' he said ; and, rising, lifted the curtain. 
She still slept ; and as he gazed his heart warmed and 
his pulses quickened. She seemed to him most beauti- 
ful ; he tried to spread the wings of his will and fly free, 
but he was weary of combat. The highest appeared, 
disappeared — there is the whole history of a life. The 
best seemed illusion ; he would not look at it. 

‘"Marvel," he whispered, "waken." And she 
awoke, her starved heart fed by what she saw in his 
face. 

"Your world is narrow and sad, dear," he said, 
kneeling beside her, and taking her warm hands in 
his. " Will you let me try to broaden and cheer it ? 
I need you, girl — will you marry me ? " 

His words fell like day-dawn on the frozen earth ; 


Untrodden Snow 


159 


and yet, with her hands clasped about his neck, she 
held him off and asked him ‘ ^ Why ? ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Because your beauty must be mine by right. Trust 
me, I will match one generosity by another. Give me 
yourself, and I ’ll go shares with you, dear, in all I 
have. My wife will never find a rough world. And 
I ’ll try” — he almost said ‘‘ to come down to you,” 
but caught the words before the}^ slipped — to meet 
your desires. Do you think that I can make you 
happy ? Det me try ! ’ ’ 

It is all a dream ! ” she half whispered. 

^ ‘ It is not all a dream, ” he said in a low tone ; ‘‘ it ’s 
true enough that you and I are here, true enough that 
we may die together. But if we go down to earth 
again, child, it must be as my wife ! ” 

‘ ' Why ? ’ ’ she asked again, both her hands clasped 
at the back of his neck, half holding him off, half draw- 
ing him. Her eyes were fastened on his, her breath 
came pantingly. His head fell on her neck. 

‘‘ Because I love you,” he whispered. 



i 

1 

I 



CHAPTER XIII 


IN THK VAIvI^KY 



HE red lamp burned in the kitchen window of 


1 Beach Cottage and carried far into the outer 
darkness ; the waning moon had not yet risen, and the 
shadow of mountain and bush lay deep. Along the 
shore the wavelets fell with a half-moan that sank into 
a sigh. Manapouri sorrowed. The storm had stirred 
its heart, and like a woman who had ceased sobbing, 
its bosom heaved. 

Under the faint light of stars a boat skimmed over 
the dark surface of the water, a man and a woman row- 
ing. The woman’s neck was turned, her eyes were 
on the light ; the man neither looked at the light nor at 
her, but straight ahead into the gloom. A little cry 
aroused him. Marvel was saying something inco- 
herently, which he did not understand, or try to under- 
stand. It had interested him to watch her all this 
home-coming. This last day she had scarce been able 
to restrain her impatience. He bent forward and 


160 


In the Valley 


i6i 


strained his eyes to get a sight of her. He decided 
that she was looking tremulous but happy ; and that 
she was not thinking of him at all. 

‘'Oh ! I am so glad ! ” she burst out, “ so glad ! The 
light is in the window, and it is becauj'^ of us. She is 
still alive or it would not be there : it is her custom to 
have it burning when one is absent.” She could not 
take her eyes off it. “ Pull for the steps, Wynn ; we 
will go in that way, the tide is high.” Then as they 
passed into the light he noticed the expression that 
passed over her face was half startled, half shrinking : 
she breathed hard. ” There is no one to be seen. Has 
Max forbidden my father to stay ? Has mother found 
him out ? What has happened ? ’ ’ 

The past returned to her with its obligations. For 
the last two weeks it had played small part in her con- 
sciousness ; she had been as one who had staked all for 
one intense desire, and won. She had impetuously 
dashed herself against the order of her little world, 
broken its laws, sinned against its prejudices, doomed 
its hopes. But she had drunk of the waters for which 
she had been athirst — and its Lethe had blotted out all 
memory of pain. She had had no regret, no sense of 
shame — she was not small enough to count her self- 
spending, her self-surrender. 

And Wynn had been touched by the woman who fell 
to the common lot in an uncommon way. He had 
made shipwreck of his highest, but, thank God, not to 


i 62 


The Untold Half 


be nauseated ! But she had known the best of passion 
— there was sanctification to her in their fused lives. 
All that was most beautiful in her life had been hers 
while they waited for death together, and her gestures, 
her smiles, the new subdued dignity of manner and 
speech delighted him. He had lingered on it uncon- 
sciously all the homeward journey ; although there 
was a stubborn denial of happiness in his mind, he was 
glad that he had not degraded her. He was quite clear 
on that point : through the half- formed nightmare of 
his day-dreams her happiness was the one ray. His 
heart would have broken at any cry, any protest, from 
her. Further than that he would not let his mind go. 
He had sacrificed the man to the artist, he dared not 
leave the artist now and be the man. He had gained 
the artist’s joy, must he pay the man’s sorrow? He 
had lost his trick of boyish light-heartedness. True, 
he had spent himself upon his picture — and his whole 
heart rose up in pride and thankfulness — and could a 
man gain two worlds at once ? No man could fairly 
serve two masters, and he had only asked of himself 
what he had asked of others — renunciation. But while 
they lived side by side together would his want feed on 
her joy ? 

Would she live to wish she could take back what she 
had given ? She was still so strange to him he could 
never gauge what she would do or think, never calcu- 
late what she or he would say till he heard their voices 


In the Valley 


163 

speaking together. It was frightfully clear to him how 
far apart they were ; and what made it more difficult, 
while she had lived, and fed her soul, a new sense had 
been waking in him that had lain dormant all his life, 
which his passion for art had starved — he became con- 
scious that he was mateless — and that it was not good 
for man to be alone. But he would make Marvel his 
wife : he had told himself with desperate faith that this 
was the only right. If intense denial of self must be 
made, he would make it. 

Marvel did not notice his look as they stood on the 
steps together ; she had grown to trust to his tender- 
ness. She turned and covered her face. A rush of 
old recollections made a tumult in her heart, the 
old environment began to tell. Her knees trembled 
with excitement ; she realised what this would mean 
for Max and his mother, she winced with the old shame 
at thought of her father. Wynn put his arm about 
her ; he saw her sudden fear, but misjudged its cause. 

I will make up,’^ he whispered. 

‘‘It is not me,’' she said softly, with trembling lip. 
“ I shall torture him — and her, that I cannot make 
Max happy — but it is not in my destiny.” 

She leaned upon him for a moment, then dragged 
herself into the kitchen, Wynn following her, at a loss 
for her meaning. 

The room was in perfect neatness and order ; all the 
household utensils in shining array in their accustomed 


164 


The Untold Half 


places, the logs glowing on the hearth. There was a 
little taste of bitterness in the thought that her place 
had been so well filled, but a sensation of relief crossed 
it that the dying woman had been well tended. The 
cottage was silent, no one was to be seen, yet that 
electrical feeling of life pervaded it that assured them 
both they were not there alone. 

The tears had gathered in Marvel’s eyes. Wynn 
watched her, as in a few seconds’ time she glanced from 
one object to another, reading facts from objects, where 
he was at sea. My place is here ! ” was written 
plainly on her countenance, in that quick moment of 
the half-formulated thought. A sound came from Mary 
Meredith’s room, the sound of long-drawn sobbing 
breath. It strained ^he chest to hear it, and Wynn 
felt a spasmodic inclination to breathe for that unseen 
breather. Marvel made him an agitated motion to 
stay where he was, and slipped along the passage out 
of sight. Before any freedom of action came to him in 
this unrehearsed scene into which he seemed to have 
strayed in a dream, so unreal was it, so outside any- 
thing concerning himself, the tension of that painful 
listening was broken by a voice that set the air vibrat- 
ing with melody : 

“ Bead kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom. 

Lead Thou me on ; 

The night is dark, and I am far from home, 

Lead Thou me on. 


In the Valley 


165 

Keep Thou my feet ; I do not ask to see 
The distant scene ; one step enough for me.’* 

Suddenly Wynn awoke. Weariness and languid 
interest were quickened to life — the scene was trans- 
formed from boredom to definite interest. The wonder- 
ful young voice rose and fell, now tremulous with 
emotion, now clear as a bird singing in the sky. Of 
theology the man had no organised knowledge ; the 
restless energy of his mind had spent itself in other 
paths. His religion, his creed, was Beauty, and be- 
cause he had sinned against his highest conception of 
it his face had sharpened, his eyes dulled. But, until 
he heard that voice, he was not conscious how large a 
growth was that individual germ in him, which was a 
thing apart from his reputation — his genius — some- 
thing irreconcilable to consideration and conduct. Nor 
did the words of the sacred song suggest religion — 
it was the vital force of soul with which they were in- 
fused that reached and touched him ; smote him with 
a poignant sense of something missed ; drew and held 
him. 

He had followed the sound before the first verse was 
ended, in time to see Marvel slip through a door. 
Without weighing his action — he never thought of it, 
or his sentiments or sensations, or any violations — he 
obeyed the call from his self-death. And at the thresh- 
old of Mary Meredith’s room he was arrested by what 
he saw — his physical vision being by far his most de- 


The Untold Half 


1 66 

veloped sense : a tall, white-habited woman bending 
over a bed, with a head like Cly tie’s, the rippling fair 
hair waving from the low brow, and plaited in rich 
coils at the back ; closely braided so that the outline 
of the head was not destroyed. In the half-light, the 
rich cream-white tint of the smooth cheeks and neck 
was brought out. The young face was unlined, but 
the shadow upon it did not touch the eyes, that had 
the blue-black lustre of stars. Her gown fell in soft 
folds about her slender but rounded form as she half 
bent to support the dying woman, who leaned against 
the propped-up pillows, her eyes glittering and half 
glazed, gazing too far off to see the girl who entered 
abruptly in travel-stained dress and shoes, and scarlet 
cloak that fell from her bronze hair. 

Grim death was mocked by the contact with such 
rich, glowing life ; as, with a smothered cry, Marvel 
sank to her knees and clasped the rigid fingers that lay 
on the white coverlet a tremor passed over the dying 
body as if from contact with a battery. The possibili- 
ties of the scene were not lost to Wynn : loose-lipped 
sensuality sitting abashed in the form of Frank Mere- 
dith, the bold eyes — that could not bear to watch the 
spirit freeing itself from its clay — veiled, the shamed 
head bowed ; strength and self- repression in the tense 
furrowed face of Max, who with folded arms stood at 
the foot of the bed, and only glanced from his mother 
to Marvel. But in that brief glance, with its quick 


In the Valley 


167 


and passionate relief, thankfulness, tenderness, and the 
sudden flushing of the stern face, the heaving of the 
broad chest, Wynn with a contraction of the heart read 
the truth. For the first time. '' As God is my wit- 
ness ! ” his eyes tried to tell Max as they met. But 
Max saw nothing, and sent him such a grateful mes- 
sage for his care of Marvel that his face paled. 

But Cordelia wrested them from earth-passion again ; 
stole into their hearts and soothed. 

‘‘ I was not ever thus, nor prayed that Thou 
Shouldst lead me on ; 

I loved to choose and see my path ; but now 
lyead Thou me on. 

I loved the garish day, and, spite of fears. 

Pride ruled my will : remember not past years.*’ 

The exquisite voice had pierced the dying woman’s 
unconsciousness. Her eyes cleared ; met those of Max 
in a tender farewell, then feeling the kisses on her 
hand looked slowly round and down, and gradually, as 
she realised that the wanderer had returned, as though 
her patient spirit had known and waited, the smile 
deepened and spread, loosening the set, cold lips. She 
pressed the warm hands that folded about her own, 
then with a sigh of content closed her eyes. Her lips 
parted again. 

Rememher not past years I she murmured, and 
died. 

Wynn walked slowly towards his studio, and for once 


i68 


The Untold Half 


he did not notice the blue-black splendour of the star- 
spangled sky, or the surface of the river. His mood 
of uplifting passed, and a dead melancholy weariness 
dragged his steps. Reaching his studio, he lit his 
reading lamp and sank into a lounge-chair. The 
familiar surroundings rested him unconsciously ; put 
him in touch again with his old world. His hands lay 
inert on the arms of his chair, he was deadly pale, and 
a nervous quivering of the eyelids and nostrils told that 
the strain of the past few weeks had been too much for 
him. The domestic tragedy he had just witnessed had 
unnerved him. Never a man of broad sympathies, 
more hermit than Bohemian, by inclination he had 
shunned real intimacy, although enjoying those asso- 
ciations of distinction which repute had enforced. He 
had sauntered through society honourably and with a 
good conscience ; vice offended his fastidious taste. 
He had sauntered to the world’s end — cut himself off 
from all distraction, and found himself harried and dis- 
turbed by a stress of feeling. 

‘ ‘ Remember not past years. ” He stood up and shook 
himself like a great dog after a plunge into cold water, 
then crossing to a cupboard, opened a bottle of wine 
and drank a deep draught. 

“ Now to the inn and for a feed and a sleep,” he said 
half aloud. Turning, his eyes fell upon the sketch of 
Marvel that had attracted him before, where she had 
turned, as though dejectedly, to go. His eyes had 


In the Valley 


169 


none of their old quizzical expression as he gazed ; 
they were sad and tender. ‘‘ No, I will not hurt you,’^ 
he said; ‘‘ when I have the heart to think of it at all I 
shall always be glad that I have only hurt myself.” 




CHAPTER XIV 

OUT OF THF COMMON RUT 

NTHONY ALGERNON ARMSTRONG stood 



tiptoe, with his mouth screwed to the dimen- 
sions of a button, listening to Marvel. They were 
standing at one end of the studio in the half-twilight 
of the afternoon. A fire was burning brightly between 
the dogs, gleaming in patches upon various objects in 
the apartment. The copper kettle singing on its stand 
over its spirit-lamp twinkled a reflected hearth ; the 
teacups and silver service glinted here and there, and 
the statuettes and pictured faces were suddenly revealed 
by the blazing wood, disappearing into shadow again 
as the flame subsided. Near the great palm, at the 
working end of the studio, Wynn and Cordelia were ab- 
sorbed in one another. On an easel near was one of the 
painter's landscapes, which they had been discussing. 

Marvel had noticed on her first entrance that every 
sketch of herself had been removed from sight; a veiled 
canvas in a corner was her secret and Wynn's. She 
was grateful for the delicacy, but a feeling that she had 


Out of the Common Rut 


171 

been deposed had thrust like a thorn through her softer 
sensation — a wish that Cordelia might know how com- 
pletely she monopolised the artist’s thought. Marvel 
glanced at the two involuntarily. Cordelia was saying 
something about the landscape, eyes smiling as well as 
lips. 

Wynn, one delicate hand resting on the picture- 
frame, stood in an attitude of deferential attention, his 
eyes fastened on the face that in spite of its sweetness 
had yet a look of strenuous strength, almost of hauteur. 
The hardness and brightness that she knew so well had 
left the man’s face, something intangible, something 
she could not name was transforming it. A spasm of 
pain clutched her heart — Cordelia must be told that 
she had vested rights. True, it was by her owm desire 
that no one knew as yet. Mary Meredith had only 
been laid to rest an hour ago. She turned resolutely to 
Tony, 

‘‘ Thanks are very weak,” she said, offering her 
hand with a gentle courtesy and dignity that, although 
new in her manner, sat gracefully upon her. ‘ ‘ I wish 
I knew some other word to say to you. ’ ^ 

Tony knew another word, but meanwhile he was 
more than recompensed, holding her hand in one palm 
and patting it with another. 

If ever I can show my gratitude in any other 
way 

She was thinking that as Wynn’s wife it might be 


172 


The Untold Half 


possible. The brewer’s heir would perhaps wish to 
keep an acquaintance, made at Manapouri, in a more 
important place. She withdrew her hand. The pats 
irritated her, and a sense of Wynn’s ownership made 
the touch of another man distasteful. Tony put his 
hands behind his back out of temptation’s way, and 
tilted himself to his heels. In spite of short stature 
and slender make, the pride which he felt in Marvel’s 
approbation inflated him to quite gigantic proportions 
in his own estimation. 

‘‘ Don’t you twouble about me. Miss — ” he hesi- 
tated, and almost inaudibly added, “ Marvel.” 

His small eyes blinked up at her. But, if she heard, 
she made no sign. Her tone was equally gentle and 
warm as she proceeded : 

“ And those flowers to-day, they were so beautiful. 
How pleased my mother would have been had she 
known ! She had so few attentions ! ” 

Tony had had them brought — a whole trap-load of 
them — from Dunedin by special messenger, regardless 
of expense, and they made a scented snow on the lonely 
grave on the hillside. There was a veil before Marvel’s 
eyes as she thought of it. She had shed no tears of 
false sentiment, it was only the thought of what the 

dead woman had missed that moved her now 

Not lost ! Not yesterday, to-day, nor any 

day ! Not pain, not waiting, nor disgrace. The great 
granary of life receives the output of the ages. All 


Out of the Common Rut 


173 


thine and mine. And if to this inestimable store we 
add one grain we further enrich those that shall come 
after.” 

It was Cordelia’s voice, a little raised ; its clear sweet 
tones vibrated through the studio. Marvel and Tony 
both turned, but the man and woman were too absorbed 
to notice it. 

‘ ‘ I — er, ’ ’ stammered Tony, ‘ ‘ Miss Gwey — w- would 
say — that she did know ! ” 

Know what ? ” 

Marvel’s manner and look were preoccupied. She 
appeared to be looking past Tony, through him to a 
vision not seen by the big sad eyes. 

“ About the flowers,” he said softly, trying to com- 
fort something he saw in her face and did not under- 
stand. There was an indescribable charm in her 
manner of late that made itself felt to Tony — the 
mystical charm that comes with knowledge. How had 
she changed ? Something she lacked that she had, 
but more was added than had been taken away. In 
her sombre black gown, with its soft white ruffles, she 
was more subdued to the eye. Her presence had 
always been a vivid patch of colour in the room, half 
barbaric, wholly picturesque. This new Marvel awed 
him a little. 

Miss Gwey is a wemarkable woman,” proceeded 
Tony, bringing one hand from behind his back to 
stroke thoughtfully his sleek hair. While you were 


174 


The Untold Half 


away she managed everybody. Max, who was — ah — 
er — ^vexed, don^t you know — to — er — find a visitor, she 
quieted with a word. I — er — added another myself. 

Miss Marvel, and the thing was done ! I assure you 
that Mr. Mewedith found himself amused ! '' Tony 
put both hands in his pockets and rattled his loose 
coins. ‘ ‘ And a most, weally a most wemarkable thing 
was, she knew you were alive ! ” He went on tiptoe- 
ing again as his excitement increased. ‘‘ And when 
it snowed, don’t you know, and I — er — we could n’t 
west for anxiety and dwead for you, she insisted that you 
were alive and well. ‘ But, my dear Miss Gwey, how 
can you possibly know ? ’ I asked. ‘ Is it a miwacle 
that life touches life ? ’ she asked. And when you 
come to think of it, it is n’t. I will say that for her! ” 
added the little man, as though Miss Grey needed some 
explaining, and had puzzled him infinitely. And 
she pwoved to be twoo I ” He blurted this out grate- 
fully. ^ ^ She ’s something quite out of the common wut. ’ ’ 
He resumed after a contemplative pause : ‘ ‘ A most 
inte westing expewience. There ’s a lift about her, 
don’t you know ; she dwags all your thoughts and 

aspiwations out of you ” 

Marvel glanced round again and lost the end of 
Tony’s remark. Wynn was lighting the standard 
lamp, with a courteous bow of apology for disturbing 
her speech. His strong deft fingers moved lightly and 
noiselessly; he appeared to grudge the loss of a word. 


Out of the Common Rut 


175 


The rose-light flooded the palm tree, and enveloped the 
tall, white, statuesque figure with a sunset flush, giving 
her colour and warmth that transformed her. Her 
dainty hands were clasped easily and hanging, her 
chin a little raised. Her uncommon beauty was start- 
ling. About Wynn, too, there was an expansion and 
glow, the haggard look of the past week had gone ; 
his eyes were sparkling, the contradictions of the serene 
brow and pugnacious jaw were lost ; power and frank- 
ness blended on the refined face. 

‘‘ Genius is never cautious,’^ Cordelia was saying ; 

it has the venturesomeness of creation, yet the re- 
straint that finishes each blade of grass.’' 

Marvel had lost the thread of what Tony was saying, 
and made random answers, not conscious that she spoke 
at all. Whenever this scene came back to her in after 
years, Tony glided into it, looking up to her with a 
flushed face, excitedly tipping from toe to heel, and 
from heel to toe. Her physical sight was photograph- 
ing this upon her brain ; her mental vision saw that 
first morning on the sun-flecked lake, when Wynn sat 
opposite in her boat and opened his mind to her. She 
had met him with rebuff, had had no words to answer. 
Words had rushed from his lips again, and this other 
woman was answering with strength and freedom. 

The girl grew suddenly chill, and pressed her hands 
together. She was transported, in some strange way, 
back to that morning, long ago, when Frank Meredith 


The Untold Half 


1 76 

had deserted the woman who had given him all. She 
comprehended with a swift agonising comprehension. 
She also felt deserted. 

“ Mother ! ” she cried out above her breath. 

Tony saw her shiver, and caught the word. Come 
to the fire,” he said, and led the way. 

As she passed Wynn her impulse was to touch him 
with a tender hand, but the smile on his lips was not 
for her. She averted her eyes with almost timidity, 
and, standing on the hearth-rug, held out her hands to 
the blaze. Physically, she was overwrought. So much 
of hot tempestuous feeling had been crowded into the 
last few weeks that the demand on body and nerve had 
consumed much force. Alternate torture and ecstasy 
had done their work, and a numbness was creeping 
over her ; like a burnt-out fire, passion, apprehension, 
anger, jealousy suddenly failed. The science and pur- 
pose of life had not been shown her ; the absorbing 
necessities of human existence had been her only 
mentors, she was stumbling along in the dark — quick 
to grasp a fact, quick to act upon it. And that hapless 
fatalism, deep rooted in her impulsive nature, robbed 
her of hope. She had felt it all along, she told herself 
— from his first coming — that Cordelia could meet his 
mind and understand his need. For a very little while 
she had been the only one in his world. 

“ Yes,” Tony’s voice made itself heard, evidently 
taking up a broken thread, I hope you will like my 


Out of the Common Rut 


177 

place in Devon. I glad you ’re going to Eng- 
land ” 

‘‘Who told you ? ” demanded Marvel with a sharp 
note. 

Tony looked petrified. “ Why, you — just now ! ” he 
faltered. How strange she looked — she was going to 
be ill. 

“ It ’s something out of the common wut, I assure 
you — Marvel. The grounds are hilly, don’t you know, 
and the sea in sight, and the wed lanes all wound about 
it. An Englishman’s cottage is his castle and a’ 
that, to quote Burns. And I mean to impwove the 
condition of the people, westore fourfold from the 
brewery, and all that sort of thing, get wid of the taint 
of the beer, don’t you know. And a beautiful woman’s 
influence — I will say that for it — would lift — lift.” He 
rose to the extreme tips of his toes as though he was 
straining up with the load of the world. ‘‘ And I ’m 
glad you encouwage my ideas of Parliament,” he con- 
cluded with a rush. 

“ I ? ” 

“You were so good as to say you thought I ’d make 
a hit.” 

“ I must be mad ! Do excuse me,” she went on 
drearily, passing her hand over her head. “ I don’t 
think I know quite what I mean ; my head throbs. 
It ’s a headache, I suppose, I ’m not sure — I never had 
one before ; or perhaps I am going mad. ’ ’ 


178 


The Untold Half 


‘‘ Don’t you twouble about that ! ” said Tony con- 
solingly, drawing forward a low basket-chair, into 
which she sank. '' Most people go mad, off and on, 
don’t you know, and the p-people you ’d think the 
sanest are often the m- maddest ; the most hopeless cases 
are those that don’t know it. Most people call me a 
bit cwacked, but I ’m not so cwacked but I can see a 
thing or two. And I see you ’re dead beat ! ” 

“ Oh, if only you would n’t talk ! ” Marvel ex- 
claimed with all her old petulance, “ and not fuss ! Do 
take that cushion away from my back, and sit down — 
do, Tony ! ” 

Tony’s mouth closed with a snap. He sat down de- 
jectedly in a chair that took him in bodily, and with a 
hand on each knee stared at Marvel anxiously. In a 
moment or two he sprang up as though electrified. 
Tea, of course. Tea. What had she said that morn- 
ing after her long night’s vigil ? — there was nothing 
when you were dead beat so delicious as tea. He 
glanced at the host interrogatively. Why, what a fool 
the man was! he ’d forgotten all about it. Well, let 
Wynn jabber, he ’d make it himself ; and while he did 
so. Marvel climbed M’Kinnon’s Pass, strained up and 
up through the cold snow. But as she went she dis- 
tinctly heard Wynn and Cordelia talking. Wynn was 
saying : 

“ We hamper ourselves — we make environments, 
Miss Grey. Life first gushes pure and cool as water 


Out of the Common Rut 


179 


from a mountain-side ; then it gets dammed, blocked 
between weeds and rocks, and swirls round in eddies, 
and there is an end to expression ! ’ ' 

But the very obstacles,” answered the musical 
voice, once they are overcome, give fresh force, fresh 
impetus. The living soul can’t stagnate ; we move out 
and on to see, hear, feel, to know, to comprehend, and 
finally to realise. But this thou knowest, and I ask 
thy patience, yet not for myself but for the Quaker 
mother who yet lives in me ! ’ ’ She laughed softly and 
gladly, and moved to the fire. 

” Excuse me, old fellow, but Miss Mewedith is 
pwecious fagged, don’t you know, and I ’ve made 
tea !” 

Wynn coloured hotly, and made blundering haste to 
redeem his reputation of host, snatching up one thing 
after another and handing them to his guests. 

“I’m awfully sorry — awfully. Marvel is of course 
faint.” His eyes said, “ Forgive me, dear.” Tony 
had shamelessly poured out the first cup and carried it 
to Marvel. Wynn followed with bread and butter, 
and took the opportunity to whisper, “ Eat, dear 
girl ! ” 

She lifted her mournful eyes and looked at him, not 
reproachfully, nor in anger, but like a dog who has 
fawned and been beaten. The look startled him. 
Where had he seen that expression before ? He re- 
membered — in his first vision of his picture. 


i8o 


The Untold Half 


He was still aglow with the contact of Cordelia’s 
large hope, and the tenderness of his mood made him 
gentle. He glanced once or twice at Marvel’s face, 
but his e3"es strayed off to that other face. 

Cordelia sat in silence, but the moved expression had 
not yet left her features. It was so rare in these 
mountain solitudes to meet with one who understood. 
She shook off lethargy and crossed to Marvel. 

“ Sister,” she said, with a sweetness in which there 
was no affectation, ” as thou knowest, my father is 
awaiting me at the inn. We purposed crossing to- 
night, or, at latest, dawn, but if thou needest me ’ ’ 

Marvel waved her away. ‘ ‘ Go, ’ ’ she said brusquely. 

“ But thou art sorrowing, and if I can comfort 
thee ” 

” You can’t, you can’t ; I ’d rather be alone ! ” 

Wynn looked from one to the other anxiously. His 
instinct was to apologise for Marvel ; he felt responsi- 
ble. By a mutual impulse Cordelia turned to him. 

She is weary ! ” she explained gently. 

That fired Marvel’s blood ; that Cordelia should pre- 
sume to account for her to Wynn ! She stood up, the 
colour warming her pale cheeks. She looked from one 
to the other haughtily. For a breathless moment the 
fate of three hung in the balance, then her face 
quivered, haughtiness changed to dignity. 

“ Forgive me,” she said quietly, holding out her 
hand to Cordelia. ‘ ‘ I am your debtor — I shall not for- 


Out of the Common Rut i8i 

get ! Are you going ? So will I. No, Tony. No, 
Wynn, don’t come. I want to find Max.” 

” I also should like to see him.” 

“ Not to-night,” said Marvel, turning back at the 
doorway and looking at him meaningly. “ He can’t 
bear it to-night — it is his first night alone. ’ ’ 




CHAPTER XV 

‘‘so FUIvI, OF frost’’ 

S Marvel neared the cottage its lighted window 



gave evidence that it was occupied, and she 
hoped that Max had returned. Since his mother’s 
death little had been seen of him. It occurred to the 
girl that he might suspect something, but if so he 
gave no hint, unless avoidance of Wynn might be 
taken as such. Then, again, it might not, for Max 
was ‘ ‘ dour, ’ ’ and would not rush to speech in sorrow. 

On entering the kitchen. Marvel was disappointed to 
find, not Max, but her father. She had seen little of 
him of late, and he had receded into the background 
of her thoughts. Tony had managed to amuse him at 
the inn. But his presence at this moment jarred on 
every strained nerve, offended every sense of decency 
and delicacy. She was humiliated, and sore enough, 
and this vulgar, coarse personality, after whose image 
she had been made, however idealised, was offensive to 
her, and seemed to push her into the mire. His 
mourning suit of broadcloth in its shining newness 


So Full of Frost 


183 


seemed to reflect its wearer’s smirk, which, as his 
daughter’s scornful glance fell upon him, changed to 
an expression of hypocritical mournfulness. 

An impulse of loathing and disgust swept over the 
girl. 

You ! ” she said, seating herself at the spotless 
deal table, and leaning her arms upon it, her eyes flxed 
upon Frank Meredith in a manner that irritated him. 

You ’d best not loiter about here ; if you take my 
advice you ’ll clear off before Max has it out with 
you. ’ ’ 

‘‘ Thank you, my dear,” he answered with a sneer, 
'' I ’ll take something besides your advice. I hope you 
have n’t forgotten our little arrangement, and by God! 
I ’ve earned it. What with that psalm- singing fool 
the mad artist’s daughter, and — well, let the dead 
lie I ” 

You ’d best,” said Marvel quietly, her eyes still on 
him, while her hand fumbled in the bosom of her dress. 

He watched her stealthily. She drew out a roll of 
notes. He made a movement of eagerness. She put 
her hands over them and spread them out on the table. 

“ Two hundred pounds, as you see. Max gave them 
to me this morning. They were in a packet addressed 
‘ To Marvel, with Mary Meredith’s blessing.’ Poor 
thing 1 how many nights of weariness and days of work 
' they represent ! She knew how to be hard on herself 
— her generosity throve on unkindness. I hope she 


184 


The Untold Half 


does n't know that you 've robbed her again, that her 
last peace was paid for by the stint of so many years.” 

Stow that ! ” said Frank Meredith coarsely. 
“ Good God, I ’ve earned the money ! ” and he shud- 
dered. 

The blessing is for me,” proceeded Marvel, in the 
same curious voice, looking at the envelope out of 
which she had taken the notes — To Marvel, with 
Mary Meredith’s blessing ! ” 

You ’re welcome to it,” he sneered ; ‘‘ blessings 
are not in my line ! ” 

“ So I should suppose,” she answered, looking up at 
him with bitter, burning scorn. I expect you ’ve 
been cursed the oftenest.” 

He laughed uneasil3^ In spite of his exasperation, 
she interested him ; she was the only member of her 
sex with whom he had had intimate relations who 
neither feared nor loved him. 

‘‘ There ’s nothing in blessing or cursing — mere 
words,” he mumbled. 

Is n’t there? Some people think there is. Cor- 
delia Grey believes every word tells, good or ill ; that 
it has a power only less potent than an act.” 

‘‘ Took here,” he interrupted. “ I can’t stand this 
sort of thing much longer. Give me the money and let 
me clear out before that surly brute comes in.” 

“ Meaning Max ? ” 

“ Meaning Max ! ” 


“ So Full of Frost 


185 


“ I wonder if you ever get a glimpse of yourself as 
others see you — as I see you, for instance ? ” she asked, 
the look in her eyes not pleasing him with its hint of 
storm. 

‘‘ I ’ll lay I don’t,” he said resentfully. “ Give us 
an idea of the picture — rub the colour in ! ” 

This indirect allusion to an artist brought Wynn be- 
fore the girl’s eyes, with his scrupulous daintiness and 
refinement ; emphasised the division between them. 
She turned sick with loathing ; the calm of her face 
broke up. She drew her eyebrows together and stared 
at him like an animal before it springs. 

“ You are tainted, you are one of those men whose 
presence is enough to make the place unholy. I don’t 
know what you were in the days gone by ; 3"ou must 
have been something different, for two good women 
have cared for you. But I — I loathe you. I feel as 
though I was avenging a wrong not my own — to the 
tips of my fingers I tingle to hurt you. Go, oh go! 
But before you go I must know something about my 
mother. ’ ’ 

She had risen, and was pacing to and fro, throwing 
him looks of scorn, which left him helpless with amaze- 
ment. His face flushed angrily, the pupils of his eyes 
expanded ominously. He threw a sentence at her 
brutally, for his impulse was to strike. 

Your mother was never married I ” 

She wheeled round sharply as to face one who had 


The Untold Half 


1 86 

given her a cowardly blow in the back. She swayed a 
little. 

Take care,” she said hoarsely, be careful what 
you say. ^ ’ 

I never married your mother ! ” he repeated dog- 
gedly, reconstructing the sentence to remove the blame 
from the woman to himself. He made a movement 
forward, he thought Marvel was going to fall; but with 
an imperious gesture she waved him off, and he fell 
back a step. She did not cry out or rave, her splendid 
height seemed to diminish ; she visibly shrank, every 
vestige of colour left her face and lips. 

“You would have it,” he grumbled, sorrier than he 
had ever been in his life, with an impotent wish that 
he could go back and save the possibility of this hour ; 
“ you ’d rile the temper of a saint ! I never meant to 
tell you ; no one knows except ourselves, not another 
soul ; and unless you ’re fool enough to blab, no one 
ever will know. It ’s nobody’s business that I can 
see — the world at large is none so virtuous — ^ what the 
eye does n’t see,’ you know ! There ’s too much 
damned cant abroad. Within the law, any little affair 
of parentage is a mere incident ’ ’ 

“ But outside the law — ” she interrupted, not lift- 
ing her eyes, and cowering still. “We ’ll keep to 
facts, please, that concern us. I ’m outside the law, 
I ’m a nobody ! ” 

A dead silence fell upon the room. The log, where 


‘‘ So Full of Frost ” 


187 


it liad burned through, seemed to thud heavily as it 
settled on the hearth ; the autumn wind moaned, 
it seemed to the shamed man, like women crying ; 
the vines upon the window tapped softly with 
ghostly fingers. He glanced half fearfully over his 
shoulder. The scattered bank-notes lay upon the table 
unheeded. He wished that the girl would look up 
or speak. If only he could have foreseen, it would 
have been so easily averted. He pulled at his mous- 
tache and stared at her. She had always been a 
bright-eyed kiddie worth marrying for — if he had only 
known. 

“ It 's rough on me ! '' she said at last, looking at 
him. 

He shuffled from one foot to the other, and cleared 
his throat. Her beauty had suffered wreck in those 
moments of silence. She was haggard and old. He 
tried to recover his self-possession, and made to lay his 
hand upon her shoulder consolingly. Her eyes de- 
terred him. She drew herself up rigidly. 

If you ’re going to harass yourself to death about 
it — more fool you ! What ’s done can’t be undone. 
I ’d undo if I could. You ’ll spoil your looks and ruin 
your chances, and fine chances you ’ve got if you know 
how to play your cards well. There ’s that painter 
fellow — strike the iron while it ’s hot ; you must have 
made an impression during that romantic incident of 
the snow-storm.” He watched her closely while he 


i88 


The Untold Half 


spoke, but her face was inscrutable. ‘‘ Or Tony — ^he ’s 
an ass certainly, but he ’s got a pot of money.'’ 

She drew herself up with the haughtiness of a queen 
— repulsion, condemnation in her face ; but she would 
not deign one word of comment. 

** Will you please tell me about my mother?" she 
asked coldly. 

‘^She was an Australian," he answered sullenly. 
‘ ‘ Her father was vicar of one of the Sydney churches 
— a pompous, self-righteous old hypocrite, who calcul- 
ated he and his family were entitled to free passes to 
the front stalls in Paradise. Mind, I loved your 
mother. Alice was the only woman I ever cared a toss 
for — a sweet little thing she was, pretty, too, and gentle 
as a lamb. If it had n’t been for the parson we should 
have been married. Sounds paradoxical, does n’t it ? 
But I was n’t good enough for him." He hesitated, 
his eyes fell, he flushed, then paled, the ghost of pathos 
came into his husky voice. ‘‘ I was an ex-convict’s 
son ! ’’ 

The two stood facing each other, he betraying what 
that had once meant. She moved her lips, and the 
knuckles of her clasped hands showed white with the 
strain she put upon them. 

“ Did you speak ? ’’ he asked. 

She shook her head. 

“ My father," he resumed, ‘‘ was the son of a Scotch 
physician practising in Tondon — a man of repute; 


‘‘ So Full of Frost '' 


189 


my father was his only son, studying for the same 
profession, strong-willed, impulsive, hot-tempered, and 
generous. You ’re very like him. The old Mere- 
dith had great hopes of him, but he got in with a 
fast set at college, and at his trial pleaded guilty to 
forgery ! ” 

Marvel’s face quivered. She opened and clasped her 
hands again ; that was the only sign she made. 

He owned his sin and paid the price,” continued 
the man with savage energy. ‘‘ Chained to felons in 
one of those brutal convict ships where, among other 
diabolical tortures, the starving wretches were placed 
so that they might smell the meat prepared for their 
jailers, he suffered degrading misery. He served his 
time, and was free. Free ! Free as a man is with a 
broken heart and disgraced name. Free to pick up the 
broken pieces of his life and make what he could of 
them. He did n’t make much, for he had n’t a golden 
cement. It is only the crime that can be gilded with 
a wash of gold that is ever hidden from the public 
sight ” 

Big burning tears welled into Marvel’s eyes, and, 
rolling down her cheeks, dropped upon her hands. 
Frank Meredith saw them, and turned to pace the 
room, an added bitterness in his voice. 

” He married a servant-girl — who else could he 
marry ? No gentlewoman could mate with him. And 
the servant-girl was good to him, thank God ! I was 


The Untold Half 


190 

only a kid when he died, but I was awfully fond of the 
bent, quiet, grey-headed man. The servant-girl went 
after him soon. Perhaps she did n’t trust the Almighty 
with him in some other world, and wanted to Mo ’ for 
him as before. And I was left to shift for myself. And 
devilish rough work it was. The gilded ones would n’t 
tolerate whitewash anyhow. I ’ve been Jack-of-all- 
trades in my time — compositor, newspaper corre- 
spondent, miner ; and as miner I struck gold. Then 
I went back to Sydney and met Alice, and, by the Tord 
above, I should have been right, if it had n’t been for 
that parson ! His mission was to save souls collectively 
and send ’em to perdition individually. His daughter 
should never marry a convict’s son — the sins of the 
fathers, you know ” 

And you handed on the curse,” cried the girl. 

O base, O cruel ! ” 

Her cry startled him, and broke into the savage re- 
venge of his triumph. He was checked, his hoarse 
tones faltered. 

‘ ' I took her away. I brought down his proud head 
into the dust. I, the ex-convict’s son, taught him 
what his religion had failed to teach — that mercy is 
twice blessed.” 

Mother, O mother ! ” cried Marvel, leaning her 
head on her folded arms upon the mantel-shelf, ‘‘ it was 
your tears that I used to feel falling on my face ! ’ ’ 

“ It brought him down from his pulpit,” the man 


‘‘ So Full of Frost 


went on, ‘ ‘ and lie lived to implore me in the name of 
God to marry his daughter. ’ ’ 

Marvel turned her tear-stained face to him. 

' ‘ A man that can strike his enemy through an inno- 
cent woman is a cur. Your father was a gentleman, 
although he sinned. He paid his debt honourably. 
There are large sins and small ones — yours was paltry, 
small, spiteful : it savours of the kitchen-maid. You 
dragged down again what your father tried to rebuild. 
If you had been like him the shame would have been 
wiped away by now ; as it is, your daughter is a cast- 
away. Here,’’ she added, moving to the table and 
gathering up the notes that lay there, ^ ' take this and 
go, and remember that I have given you all I 
have ” 

Heavy, dragging footsteps sounded on the steps. 
The door opened, and Max stood in the room. 

He glanced from Marvel, standing with the bank- 
notes in her outstretched hand, her face disturbed, her 
cheeks stained with tears, to her father, not less dis- 
turbed than she. One step divided the pair ; the 
glance took in the situation. Max wore his mountain- 
eering garb of thick grey tweed, with woollen stockings 
meeting the knickerbockers at the knee. No badge 
or sign of mourning drew notice to his loss, the sensi- 
tive mouth alone did that. His heavy brows hung 
over eyes not less clear and far-seeing than usual. 

Go ! ” he said laconically, pointing to the door. 


192 


The Untold Half 


Frank Meredith had not had time to recover himself. 
At a distance he could make light of the eccentricities 
of his step-son, at close quarters he felt easier near an 
open door. At the present moment Max barred the 
exit, and he wanted the notes. No inspiration came to 
him ; his eyelids quivered nervously as his glance 
travelled slowly over the outline of the gigantic frame 
and massive head. Anywhere else he would have 
admired his style. 

Marvel looked at Max and saw every muscle was 
strained with the self-control he put upon himself not 
to take her father by the collar and fling him into the 
lake. Her own manner she forced to calm. 

He is going this moment,” she stammered. “ I 
was saying farewell. Take this,” she added, turning 
to Frank Meredith imploringly, and holding out the 
notes again, “ and go quickly ; I am so tired — do go.” 

Max heard the break in her voice and turned to her 
quickly. Gently but firmly he possessed himself of the 
money, and drew the girl within the shelter of his arm. 

You hear,” he said, “ go quickly.” 

Frank Meredith saw that he was worsted, that he 
might as well temporise with and endeavour to per- 
suade one of the mountains outside as try to move this 
young man, whom as a boy he had insulted and mocked 
for a clown. Concentrated hate blazed at him out of 
the deep-set eyes, and one of the most ignominious 
moments of his life was that which he took to pass 


So Full of Frost 


193 


the man whose arm encircled his daughter protect- 
ingly. Hot insulting words sprang to his lips, but he 
choked them back. At the door he turned, but what- 
ever he might have said Marvel arrested. She broke 
from Max and laid a detaining hand upon his arm. 

My mother — have you a picture of her?’' she 
asked breathlessly. 

The man hesitated for a moment sullenly, then, 
fumbling in his pocket, he drew out a small case and 
handed it to her unopened, and with a malignant look 
at Max turned slowly and descended the steps. His 
footsteps sounded stumblingly on the gravel outside. 
Marvel listened till they had died away, then with a 
smothered cry, as though his going alone and in dark- 
ness hurt her, she turned away, and sank into her low 
rocker by the fire. 

Max closed the door, and looked down on her, 
standing opposite. Every furrow deepened in his 
strong face as he gazed. What had happened to her 
that she was so wan and changed ? Nothing good ; 
he could discriminate between the effects of weal and 
woe too well. And this mention of her mother — they 
had never heard of her before ! The girl’s eyes were 
feasting on a miniature — she had forgotten everything 
in its study ; with greedy gaze she seemed to draw 
every feature it represented to her brain to be impressed 
there too deeply for forgetfulness. There had always 
been something between them, someone — there was 


194 


The Untold Half 


now. But his mother’s command lay on him — she 
must not be coerced. Suddenly, and for the first time, 
it occurred to him that they could not go on living to- 
gether in the same house ; she was a girl and he was a 
man. And Marvel had lived there so long it would 
seem so strange to live without her. Strange ? It 
would be death in life ! But she was a girl, she must 
not go away. If he could persuade her to stay, he 
would ask an old friend of his mother’s to come and 
live with her, and go away himself, and work for her 
somehow — somewhere. 

Her tears were dropping fast and splashing on the 
pictured face — and Marvel had no idle tears. In all 
the years they had lived together he had never seen her 
cry before to-night. She shaded her eyes with one 
hand to hide her crying from him, but a lump sprang 
to his throat, a mist blinded him. He had fought his 
battle out by the grave on the hillside without a sob ; 
but this living sorrow, this grief of the bright young 
thing who had lost her cruel sharpness, and who 
bowed down lower and lower, quivering till her bosom 
could hold her pain no longer, hurt him sorely. Her 
bosom heaved with a sob that rent her. 

He was on his knees beside her in a moment, his 
strong frame trembling like a leaf in a storm. He laid 
her head on his shoulder, and gently stroked her hair. 

‘ ‘ O Max, I have only you — only you in all the world ! ’ ’ 

It was a cry of mortal agony and despair wrung from 


So Full of Frost 


195 


the girPs heart in her hour of desolation. She had 
been so rich, so proud, so arrogant, felt in her soul of 
souls a promise of rich life, her right to it, the right 
every young heart feels to its ultimate inheritance. 
And although the throbbing heart under the bowed 
head winced at the despair in that word “ only,’' it 
was more than he had asked or thought. He pressed 
the fallen head closer to his breast. 

‘‘ I ’m a poor substitute for happiness,” he said 
hoarsely, ‘‘ but I won’t fail, so help me, God ! ” 

It was prayer as much as vow ; as though in sudden 
realisation that his own strength was not sufficient to 
sustain the burden of this passionate soul, that in its 
abasement had turned to him. 

Marvel sobbed herself quiet, and then drew herself 
from the strong arms that held her. Pushing her 
tumbled hair from her hot forehead, she placed the 
miniature in Max’s hands. 

‘ ‘ This was my mother, ’ ’ she said. 

The glass was blurred, and, taking his handkerchief 
from his pocket, in his deliberate way, Max slowly 
polished it. Holding it where the light fell full on it 
he examined it critically. Marvel’s eyes fastened on 
his face meanwhile. Curiosity to know what manner 
of woman Marvel’s mother had been, jealousy for his 
own mother’s sake, tenderness for Marvel, all held him, 
and the girl waited for his verdict as one does for the 
verdict of justice, instinctively valuing it. 


196 


The Untold Half 


‘‘ She was good and sweet, he said at last, ** and 
true,’’ he added presently. 

Marvel drew a long breath, tremulous yet from her 
sobbing ; she stood up, and as though the warmth of 
the room oppressed her threw open the little window 
and stood looking at the snow-peaks standing out 
against the steel-spangled blackness of the sky. Max 
did not disturb her by question or look — her thoughts 
were apart from him, his all of her. After quite a 
long time she began speaking, not tempestuously or 
with passion, but in a dull voice, and with eyes on the 
stars over the snow-peaks. She told him the story 
that Frank Meredith had told to her, and when it was 
ended grew silent again. Her eyes had left the stars 
for a patch of light that glowed among the distant bush. 
So intent was she on the gleaming studio roof that 
Max’s voice startled her. 

‘‘ I can’t bear to hear you talk like that. It is n’t 
natural. At twenty years life is n’t over and done — 
and nothing is so bad that it ’s past mending ! ” But 
she gave no indication that she heard. 

‘‘ Rememher not past years^'* he added after the 
silence had become unendurable. 

At that she turned. 



CHAPTER XVI 

‘‘ OF STORM AND CTOUDINKSS 

HAT ’S not in mortal power,” she said, ‘‘ and 



1 if it were, with nothing to remember there ^d 
be little to have ! ” She held out her hand to ward 
Max off, for she saw by the fire in his eyes that he had 
something to say, and with a movement of grace and 
dignity drew herself up. 

“ I ^m going awa3% to-morrow — alone.” Max little 
guessed that the tragedy of a woman’s life was ex- 
pressed in the pause before that last word. His blood 
was boiling at the thought that her father had bowed 
the bright head she had carried so proudly. 

I always meant to go away,” she went on, her 
truthful eyes trying to tell him why ; ‘ ‘ but I did not 
think my going would have been in this fashion. To- 
night has changed many things ! ” Her eyes dropped, 
she controlled her quivering lip with difficulty, and 
cleared her voice, that was hoarse as if with cold, then 
raised her head again, clasping her hands lightly in 
front of her. 


197 


198 


The Untold Half 


‘‘You saw me cry a while ago ! ” she went on, a 
little break in her voice, but courage in her look. 
“I’m sorry for that, because it has given you a wrong 
impression ” — he drew in a long breath, and folded his 
arms on his broad chest, his head bent towards her, 
watchful eyes noting every quiver of the changing 
face — “ quite a wrong impression ; and I ’m not that 
sort of girl at all ! ” 

A smile that tried to reassure him trembled round 
the drooping lips, but threw her eyes into deeper 
shadow. 

“ You must n’t think that I ’m afraid ! ” 

She pushed her hair off her forehead with a hand 
that shook ; and Max cursed the man he thought had 
made her tremble. But his lips did not move. He 
waited in his patient way, anxious to see from the 
point where she stood. From his poinr, she was the 
proud queen of his heart who had been humbled, and 
although she had ever used her queenship against him, 
he hated the man who had humbled her. 

“I’m afraid of nothing,’’ she reiterated, “ except of 
bringing more sorrow to this house, or — or — into the 
life of any I love. ’ ’ 

He made a gesture that preceded speech, but she 
held her ground and did not heed him. 

“ I ’ve been a brute to you, Max. No, don’t speak, 
not yet ! I ’ve mocked you and yours since we were 
children together ; and if you wanted to retaliate 


199 


“ of Storm and Cloudiness 

you ^ve grounds enough to go on. I don’t ask your 
pardon — you ’re too large to bear a grudge. But I 
wanted to tell you on this last night of all that I see 
with open eyes what sort of man you are. To-morrow 
I begin again. I must go free — but when we meet 
again, if you wish it, then we ’ll still be friends.” 

The passion in his heart showed through the iron 
mask of Max’s face, it lit and quivered, his voice shook. 

“ To-night,” he said huskily, ” for the first time in 
your life you turned to me of your own free will. Per- 
haps you did n’t know what it meant to me, but it 
meant something that I ’d give years to live over again. 
A moment here and there in a life may count more than 
all that ’s gone before or may come after it ” — he mis- 
understood her stifled cry, and with a full look into her 
eyes reiterated — more than all that ’s gone before or 
may come after it. You don’t know, perhaps.” Then 
in quite a change of tone to determination, he went on 
emphatically : ‘ ‘ The miss of you would hurt more than 
any pain you could give me. When you go, the light 
of the day will go, and the starshine from the night. ’ ’ 
He bent forward eagerly, and she saw the look in his 
eyes — yearning passion, humility, tenderness — and 
drew her breath with a convulsive gasp. No eyes had 
ever gazed on her so. Not Wynn’s, that had feasted 
on her beauty. She shivered a little — the thought 
chilled her. 

I have never had my say — you would n’t let me,” 


200 


The Untold Half 


he continued, holding out his hands with a dramatic 
gesture of pleading — “ the time had n’t come. But in 
season or out of season I ’ll speak now. I love you ! 
Do you understand ? — love you ! princess or beggar- 
maid would make no difference. I ’ve the right of any 
honest man to tell a love that ’s clean and true. I ’m 
not the sort to go half way and turn back. I take no 
credit that I must go on and can’t change — that ’s as 
much a part of me as getting to a mountain-top when 
I ’ve once set out. It came to be in me and will be so 
while I ’ve any feeling left. ‘ As a man thinketh so is 
he,’ and I ’m thinking. Marvel, that the woman a man 
loves is greater happiness to him, even if she brings 
him sorrow, than any other sort of life without her. ’ ’ 

Ah, then it was true. Wynn did not love her. She 
heard his cultured, tired voice in the pause of this man’s 
deep, tremulous tones: '‘We hamper ourselves, we 
make environments. ’ ’ 

“I’m not right, perhaps,” Max proceeded, almost 
as though he had heard her thought, and pleaded in 
extenuation ; “ quite wrong, maybe, from other men’s 
point of view,” — he moved to the open window as he 
spoke and looked out where Marvel had looked — “ but 
arguing rarely changes a mind. So that ’s the way of 
it ; it ’s the base and the summit of it. I love you ! 
Time won’t alter it, nor absence. I have n’t tried to 
change ; I don’t want to. When folks begin to talk 
about killing their love, it ’s mostly dying already ! ” 


of Storm and Cloudiness ” 201 


n 


In the silence that followed Marvel stood passively. 
All the time her heart was hungering for this language 
on another tongue. Max closed the window, secured 
the hasp, and turned. 

“You talk of going away alone — what wdll you do ? ’ ’ 
he asked. 

“ Oh, Max ! she answered hurriedly and nervously, 
“ there must be something that a girl can do in every 
city. There must be a place. I will find my place 
and I will make my life of use. Don’t look so doubt- 
ful, dear ; don’t discourage me ! One thing I must not 
do — pull down other lives like my father has done. 
I want to begin where my grandfather left off.” 

“ I won’t coerce you, nor bother you,’’ responded 
Max. “ Every man and woman must walk their own 
road on their own feet, but my way lies alongside yours 
till you ’re over the ridge. When I see you past labour 
and danger, I ’ll say good-bye, but I ’m not going to 
leave you at the bottom of the hill ! ” 

He saw a quick look, half alarm, half protest, pass 
over her face. 

“ You ’ll waste all your life,” she cried involuntarily. 
“ I shall never be any happier than I am now.” 

‘ ‘ Then marry me, ’ ’ he cried, moving a step nearer, 
again holding out his hands. “ If you are not going 
to happiness, why go ? Stay with me. I shall be 
happy at the least. Dear, as I live, by my mother’s 
grave this day I swore to put you first ; to let you go, 


202 


The Untold Half 


if going meant your joy — to hold my tongue and not to 
say a word. I had given you up, when I came home 
to hear you say, ‘ I ’ve only you ! ' I know what I am 
— not the man for a girl like you ; but if there is no 
other — nothing better — ’’ His voice choked, and he 
stopped. 

She took his arm in a convulsive grip. The blood 
rushed to her face, then left her deadly white. You 
donT know what you say. Would you take a girl out 
of hell?’’ 

“ I would take you ! ” he answered steadily, his gaze 
unflinching. She met it a moment, wavered, dropped 
his arm, and turned sadly away. 

Her will was almost paralysed, her self-distrust com- 
plete. She turned to her step-mother’s room by mere 
force of habit as her latest act at night, and recollected 
with a shock that it was untenanted. Blowing out the 
light she carried, she sat down at the open window, the 
night air cool on her forehead. She heard Max bolt 
and bar the cottage doors, then go to his room at the 
back. Silence, deep and profound, settled over the 
house, and all round about. Her tired head rested on 
the window-sill, her eyes upon the dismantled bed. It 
was occupied again in her fancy by the quiet flgure 
that had yet been such a source of strength. What 
would she say, what had she said ? ‘ ‘ Remember not 

past years. ’ ’ 

No, no, that could not be. She dared not lay her 


of Storm and Cloudiness " 203 


(( 

burden down — shunt her weariness to other shoulders. 
Life had now no allurements ; the world outside no 
temptations. Wynn must not be hampered. She 
knew that now ; knew that not only would she drag 
him down socially, but hold him back from his best 
self. She did not blame him that he had been mis- 
taken ; she had been mistaken also. It was her grand- 
father’s blood in her that had clamoured for light and 
life, and the pride of life — her grandfather before his 
fall. She saw him as he had been — proud, passionate, 
generous ; saw him again in the felon’s dock pleading 
guilty before the sea of curious eyes — prouder in his 
degradation than in his days of innocence ; and yet 
again, chained, in patient submission, working out his 
own salvation. 

‘ ‘ I also will pay ! ’ ’ she murmured, too tired to know 
how. She would never need reminding where she be- 
longed, she would put herself beyond reproach or ap- 
peal, give no trouble to anyone, leave the sunshine for 
others, unclouded. 

But it is not possible to will where the rain shall fall. 
Her fight was over, her hurt, sensitive mind made no 
further protest. She had been quick to err, and as 
quick to detect her mistake, and with her last thought 
of restitution she drew a warm cover about her head 
and body, and fell into deep, refreshing sleep, such 
sleep as only youth’s sorrow knows. She slept for 
some hours, and awoke to early morning quietness. 


204 


The Untold Half 


The light was creeping down the dark mountain-sides, 
and splashing the misty bush-tops. 

What wakened her ? Surely she heard her name 
whispered ? She sat up and looked round, warm in the 
fur of her rug, but cramped from her position. While 
she looked around dazedly, only half awake, her father’s 
face appeared at the open window. He made an im- 
perative sign to her for silence, and beckoned her to 
approach. His eyes were bloodshot and bleary, the 
beckoning hand shook, and his uncombed hair fell in 
unkempt untidiness over his forehead. Marvel noted 
that he wore a rough riding-coat, buttoned to his chin. 
She took his untimely appearance without any sort of 
emotion — feeling for the time being was spent. This 
was one of the happenings that did not matter — the in- 
tensity which had been exclusively brought to bear 
upon one object was a thing of yesterday. 

“ Well,” she asked coolly, what is it ? What do 
you want ? I have n’t got the money ! ” 

Hush ! ” he whispered ; not so loud. I want 
you to come with me. ’ ’ 

” / have n’t got the money, I tell you ! ” she re- 
peated pettishly. 

Never mind the money,” he said, still in a loud 
whisper. I want you ; you are my child. Nature 
and feeling will speak sometimes. Come away from 
that bigoted, surly brute — I ’ll show you life. You ’ve 
wasted your sweetness on the desert air too long ! ” 


of Storm and Cloudiness ” 205 


a 


Could n’t you come in at the door and say it ? ” 
she asked, in her natural voice, looking at him disap- 
provingly. ' ‘ There ’s no excuse for that way of yours, 
peering in at windows ! ’ ’ 

His expression lit up with a grim kind of satisfaction, 
even while he glanced hurriedly past her to see if her 
words had carried. 

You seem to forget I got the kick-out last night.” 

She made no answer, but stood deliberating. Would 
this not be a way out of her difficulty ? If she decided 
to go with her father. Max would leave her free. 

You ’ve no sort of claim, you know,” she said, 
after a pause so long that he thought his cause lost, 
and had thrown more than one apprehensive glance to 
the horses he had left tied in the distance. I ’m 
outside the law, I ’m my own mistress, and if I don’t 
like your life I sha’n’t stay. And as for sympathy and 
affection, you ’ll get none from me ! ” 

Her frowning brow warned him that she was smart- 
ing yet from the wound he had dealt, and that he must 
exercise self-control if he wanted to accomplish his 
purpose, which was chiefly one of revenge upon Max. 

Do be a little cautious,” he urged, still in a stage 
whisper, gulping down a contemptuous epithet, and 
decide one way or other, for I ’m off. It ’s no use 
denying that you ’re miserable here ; anyone can see 
it.” 

** Can they ? ” she queried quickly. Then drawing 


2o6 


The Untold Half 


herself together by an effort, for she felt a shaking 
come over her limbs, she went on with contemptuous 
retort : And it ’s obvious I sha^n't be anything else 

with you. But I 'll start. I '11 have your company as 
long as it pleases me, and when it does n' t we can part. ’ ’ 

His eyes flashed triumphantly. He had stumbled 
on to a good thing. Life was getting a bit monotonous ; 
old acquaintances shunned, new ones fought shy. 
Marvel would be an attraction, and he should have 
trampled on Max. A cheque of Tony's lay over his 
heart and kept it warm, quite a new pulse beat in his 
veins. ‘ ^ Be quick, my dear ! The bend of the road ! ' ' 
He pointed to where Marvel had so often watched the 
coach come into sight, and then disappeared. 

But Marvel did not obey his inj unction. She loitered. 
First she bathed her face and shoulders ; then combed 
and coiled her hair, and donned her blue serge habit 
and riding-cap deliberately and neatly. She had taken 
pains with herself all her life long, and the harsh truths 
she had been learning lately in no way affected the 
decencies of daily life. She noticed that her eyes were 
heavy, and that her cheeks had lost some of their fine 
bloom ; but the fact did not appeal to her self-pity, her 
mind was too busy with thoughts of what she was 
about to do. The first sense of relief was shaken by a 
sudden heart-throb as she sat down to tell Max by pen 
and ink what she had done. Then, leaving the note 
where it would catch his eye, she looked back at her 


of Storm and Cloudiness ” 207 


it 


little room again. A faintness stole over her as she 
tried to realise this might be her last look at the familiar 
household things. For a moment they were blotted 
from her vision, then by an effort, with a low, involun- 
tary cry, she pulled herself together and made the final 
wrench. 

Frank Meredith had been swearing at the coldness 
of the morning and the passage of time fully an hour, 
when he saw the tall figure of his daughter swinging 
leisurely towards him through the morning mists. 

Max awakened to hear the faint thud of receding 
hoof-beats. He had slept soundly all night — the first 
sound sleep for several weeks ; anxiety for Marvel, 
watching beside his mother, and the first poignant 
sense of loss dissipating rest. His first waking con- 
sciousness was the sense of forsakenness the hoof-beats, 
momentarily growing fainter, gave him ; his next was 
gladness that Marvel was still beneath his roof to be 
protected, perhaps to be won ! His whole being was 
moved at the thought. 

Reaping from his bed, he hastened through his dip 
in the lake, then, glowing and vigorous from the exer- 
cise, strode back to the cottage. Hearing no movement, 
he cautiously set about lighting a fire and sweeping 
the hearth, for the heavy, hanging mists seemed like a 
pall, and had penetrated into the cottage. When the 
wood blazed he was better pleased, but he softly ad- 


208 


The Untold Half 


justed this and rearranged that in the fashion that 
Marvel approved. When the kettle boiled, and he had 
toasted bread and bacon and boiled eggs for two, there 
was nothing more to be done except wait, and in the 
waiting the want of her grew to an ache. The unusual 
stillness was past bearing in the end. He had tried to 
account for it by the fact that she was wearied and slept 
late, but the more he endeavoured to reassure himself, 
the more he failed in content, for the miss of her had 
overwhelmed him with a feeling of peril. 

A stride or two brought him to her door, and in- 
stantly he knocked. Eavesdropping was not his 
fashion. When no answer came to his repeated knock- 
ing, with a throbbing heart he called, Marvel, I ’m 
coming in ! ’ ^ 

The knob yielded, and the sight of the unpressed 
bed startled him. He no sooner saw it than he knew 
that she had gone. All the morning his heart had 
been full of sadness and disappointment — had felt that 
he was forsaken. He had tormented himself for sight 
of her, while his senses were conscious that she was not 
near. 

Suddenly he remembered the sound of departing 
hoof-beats. His brain turned dizzy, and he leaned 
where she had leant a little time ago — against the 
door-post. His eyes saw the letter pinned to her 
mirror, but it was a moment or so before he moved to 
possess it. The shapely, long-fingered hands trembled 


of Storm and Cloudiness ” 209 




as he cut the envelope with his pocket-knife — ‘ ‘ I have 
gone, dear, with my father. It is best. Marvel.’’ 

As he grasped the idea, the colour came back to his 
lips and the fire to his deep-set eyes. The shaggy 
brows uplifted a little. Half an hour sufiiced to break- 
fast and possess himself of a saddled horse and start in 
pursuit. It took no refiection to decide that Frank 
Meredith and Marvel must remain for ever separate, 
and as he rode forward through the mist his mouth 
was set like a vice, his brows met above his eyes, and 
even had he known how many years would pass before 
he gazed again on the beloved landscape through 
which he rode unheeding, he would scarce have turned 
his eyes to the right or the left in his watchfulness of 
the road ahead. 

Infinite love of the girl and infinite hate of the man 
he pursued possessed him. The two opposing passions 
absorbed him. The few people whom he passed, and 
who called out a friendly good-day, receiving no answer 
or sign of recognition, stared after the horse and rider, 
who appeared in unity of mind and person. Max was 
known, not as a violent man, but as a man of justice. 
He turned away from injustice as from an infection, 
and his acquaintances felt without argument that he 
would as soon destroy himself as anything else that 
opposed his conception of it. He thus escaped much 
question — and those who noticed his face that morning 
knew that he was in antagonism with somebody. A 


210 


The Untold Half 


leisurely rider, a visitor to that part, passing him and 
receiving no response to his greeting, turned in his 
saddle, and looked after the powerful figure riding 
through the mist. 

“ Why^ what's the matter'' quoth he, that you 
have such a February face^ so full of frosty of storm and 
cloudiness f " 

Arrived at the end of the dreary “ wilderness,’^ over 
whose rough slab-stones the horse picked his way care- 
fully, Max forded the stream, and by force of old associ- 
ation, reined in his steed to look at the old tumble-down 
inn where Mary Meredith had met the man who had 
robbed and mocked him a second time. And there, 
looking from the broken window of the bar-parlour of 
the days gone by, was Frank Meredith. Max drew a 
deep breath. If thought could have annihilated, Frank 
Meredith would have suffered instant extinction. His 
self-estimation, his insolent assurance, seemed to stamp 
every feature of his face as he gazed over a scene on 
which he had looked so often in other days. The hate- 
ful personality of the man intensified itself to Max’s re- 
newed sight of him, and when, as though feeling the 
strong hatred directed at him, the step-father turned 
sharply and encountered the look of concentrated pas- 
sion on the face of the young man he had rejoiced to 
torture once upon a time, he was petrified with horror. 
He waited for a moment, incapable of movement, ex- 
pecting a bullet ; but Max, struck only by his look, 


“ of Storm and Cloudiness ” 21 1 

and dismounting, made to enter as Marvel had rejoined 
her father. 

For more Frank Meredith did not wait ; he fled by 
the back entrance, from which he had crept once before 
with the money-bags. Instinct is swifter than reason, 
and at that moment he could not attain to the power 
of thought, and deferred argument, feeling that it 
would not avail, however logical. There was a one- 
sided compulsion about Max’s manner that quickly 
determined him to keep out of sight, at least till after 
dark, when he hoped to gain possession of a horse. 

Marvel was lost to him — he realised that ; and as he 
wandered about during the hours that preceded night- 
fall he was in the disposition to curse the girl for having 
insisted upon a rest. Human nature had its limits, 
and his had been tested almost to straining point while 
his daughter slept on the remains of an old leather 
couch, and he had been left to people the silence with 
the ghosts of the past. 

Faint with hunger, sick with depression, numbed 
with the damp and cold, he crept back stealthily in the 
evening shadows. The tumble-down inn made a black 
spot on the river bank, its angles outlined against a 
grey sky. But one window showed a light, and to- 
wards this, as though impelled by some feeling stronger 
than his fear, Frank Meredith went inch by inch. He 
halted suddenly, for in the square of light appeared the 
dark head and face that had haunted him all day. 


212 


The Untold Half 


Frank Meredith bit his lips to keep back the cry that 
rose to them — a cry that changed to a muttered curse. 
But even as he cursed his eyes were riveted — the power 
which Nature had stamped on the countenance of the 
young man held him. He realised without any philo- 
sophic analysis that this man’s will was to be the law 
that determined the present crisis ; and whether the 
sentiment arose from self-pity, or some not quite dead 
instinct of virtue, the feeling came that for him there was 
to be no moral rebuilding, that the fatal law of reaping 
what had been sown was being dealt to him. The linea- 
ments of his lawgiver’s face promised no mercy. And 
while his eyes dwelt on it line by line, something of 
the justice in the situation, that here, where he had re- 
jected, he was being rejected in turn, maddened him. 
For the first time he wished that Mary Meredith lived, 
and the dead woman was in part avenged. Involun- 
tarily his hand closed over the heavy stick he carried 
from the bush — the movement was in sympathy with 
his thoughts — then the twitching fingers became con- 
scious of the weapon they held, and the coward’s desire 
for revenge caused them to clutch it spasmodically. He 
drew in his breath, his lips parted over his teeth, he 
raised his right arm cautiously, took deliberate aim, 
and struck his adversary a crashing blow in the face. 



CHAPTER XVII 

“l GO TO HKR, AND SAY TO HKR ” 

ONY had decided that the time had come for 



1 speech. At first he had been too confounded by 
Marvel’s beauty, and things generally, to command 
the technique of suitable words in which to convey his 
desires ; but the girl was no longer hampered with the 
care of a dying woman, and her movement towards 
himself had, of late, been decidedly sympathetic. He 
sprang from his bed and emerged from his tub to 
make a careful toilet, determined to go in and win. 
Braced by the incontestable mental position he had 
taken, he donned a new mountaineering suit of fawn 
tweeds that had been consigned to him by his Bond 
Street tailor, and holding his head up as befitted the 
dignity of his destiny, omitting the trifling incident of 
breakfast, went forth to conquer, cheerfully whistling 
‘ ‘ When Johnnie comes marching home again ! ’ ’ the ex- 
pression of his eyes indicating that he would be called 
to a higher destination. But Nature, this morning, 


214 


The Untold Half 


seemed to lack intelligence, and absolutely refused 
any cheery manifestation. The great snow-cones were 
shrouded, colour and sparkle of water lay under a pall, 
and the tussock and bracken were sodden with mist, 
which lay like a breath of hoar-frost upon every blade 
of grass and bough of bush. 

Tony increased his pace, ruining, as he strode on, 
the immaculate polish of his boots ; his eyes were not 
on the track, but searched restlessly from right to left, 
and forward, for a figure usually abroad in the early 
morning. The lake, like a great intelligence, was sad 
of mood, and sighed with every breath. Tony whistled 
louder and tried not to watch for the white frill of water 
that emerged from the mist with every incoming wave- 
let and then withdrew ; it reminded him of handker- 
chiefs being waved in farewell. 

He left whistling presently for soliloquy, as, sighting 
Beach Cottage, he made a sharp ditour. Morning was 
the time to tell a girl of love — its early hours matched 
her purity and freshness. A man’s understanding and 
intelligence were clear, he was free from the sensuous 
glamour of the night ; every word told. He would go 
to her, and say to her — Confound the mist, how it 
got into a fellow’s eyes ! 

The cottage again. He felt a sudden sinking at the 
heart, and stood still and stared at it. It looked a 
phantom cottage in a world of cloud, and had lost all 
its old air of solidity and comfort. The mist had filled 


“I 'll Go to Her, and Say to Her 


215 


the hollow at its base, and cut off its approaches, and 
by a peculiar effect of the light it appeared upborne on 
a cloud, sailing away toward the peaks, unreal, ethereal. 
Tony shivered. By Jove, how cold it was ! and how 
wet his boots were ! It was an error of judgment to 
start any momentous undertaking on an empty stom- 
ach ; physical law was a law — in the common rut of 
life, of course, but still a law, don't you know. 

He faced towards the inn, purely to conform to the 
law of physical nature, and eat. Food warmed the 
blood and gave force to the brain, and all that a man 
achieved had its birth in his brain ! He ordered coffee, 
two eggs, a cutlet, and toast ; and when the giant’s 
repast was set before him, murmured gently at the de- 
lay, cracked an egg, cut a slice of toast into strips, and 
drank a cup of steaming coffee. Feeling refreshed, he 
went to his room and changed his wet boots and stock- 
ings, which he ought to have done first, and to the fact 
of which omission he ever afterwards attributed a de- 
cline of energy and spirits, datable to that morning. 

After donning the boots he reconsidered the Bond 
Street suit. No, it did not quite appeal to him — he 
had previously overlooked its disadvantages ; it had no 
appeal about it, anybody might have worn it. It said 
to no one, ‘ ‘ Do you remember ? ’ ’ and there was a lan- 
guage of old clothes, don’t you know, like the language 
of old friendship, that asked, Do you remember, I 
w^s worn on that first occasion you were so sweet ? 


2i6 


The Untold Half 


This sleeve covered the arm where your hand rested, 
this rent was made that day in your service when you 
asked for an inaccessible rose/’ Yes, Tony preferred 
the old suit — it gave an aesthetic value to its wearer, 
and on this day his ensemble must co-ordinate towards 
a higher end. It was not so much beauty of person 
that attracted as attributed beauty. 

Noon was fading into early afternoon when Tony re- 
turned a second time. The mist phenomenon had 
played havoc with him, he looked pinched and worn. 
He had seen Marvel in her sombre gown a hundred 
times and hastened to overtake an illusion. It was a 
day of empty shadows. Wynn had been at the studio 
all the morning, gone before Tony rose, leaving a mes- 
sage that he had work on hand that admitted no dis- 
turbance. Frank Meredith had departed also before 
Tony’s advent that morning, and Max’s tall figure was 
nowhere visible on hill and dale, and Tony’s under- 
standing grasped an old fact with new insight, that it 
is the simple friendships of life that give it its real 
sweetness. 

In the afternoon he changed his garb again for the 
conventional call. To meet a lady haphazard, tweeds 
were right ; but even here at the end of the world no 
nice-minded man lacked in the courtesies. He would 
call on Marvel and say that he feared the strain of 
yesterday had wearied her. He should see her in the 
mellow light of the fire. Her household duties done. 


I ’ll Go to Her, and Say to Her- 


217 


she would have leisure to receive him, and to listen. 
Seated before the glowing logs, they would drift into 
familiar talk, and in a pause — just exactly what had 
gone before he could not decide, but in one of those 
eloquent pauses that only familiar friends can appre- 
ciate — he would slip in with his great request — it seemed 
greater as the day advanced — and softened by the hour, 
the twilight hour of reverie and contemplation and 
wistfulness, she would answer — would answer — ? 
Tony’s heart leaped to meet the word. What would 
she say ? 

He was near the cottage now, and lifted the long 
tails of his frock-coat from contact with the wet grass, 
and stepped gingerly because of his patent leather 
boots. He went to the front or veranda entrance by 
reason of the formality of his visit, so that when no 
firelight glowed through the window it did not strike 
him with that sense of chill, as when, having received 
no answer, he, after a lengthy pause, went to the en- 
trance from the lake, and, ascending the steps, found 
the hospitable door barred and the chimney smokeless. 

But, of course, the house was untenanted now, and 
Marvel was at the studio. This was what Wynn called 

the children’s hour,” between the dark and the day- 
light, his time of idling. Tony quickened again, pulses 
and step, and the warm lamplight shining through the 
glass roof made his eyes brighten when he beheld it. 

In answer to his knock Wynn opened. He looked 


2i8 


The Untold Half 


past Tony into the gloom as though expecting or hop- 
ing for some other, then turned and left his visitor to 
close the door, and reseated himself in a voluminous 
chair. After a curious glance at Tony, as though 
struck by his careful get-up, he leaned back and ex- 
amined the finger-tips of first one hand and then the 
other. Tony felt de trop, Wynn looked tired and 
bored, but the curtain was drawn between the working 
and the social half of the studio, and Wynn was rarely 
subjected to the intrusion of a questioner. His manner 
this afternoon permitted no familiarity and acted on 
Tony very much as a shower-bath would do on a man 
wet to the skin with rain. 

Beastly day ! ” volunteered Wynn, and Tony 
agreed heartily. Neither asked the question they both 
thought, “ Have you seen Marvel ? nor did they try 
to force conversation. To both the memory of yester- 
day appealed, and courtesy alone forbade the elder man 
turning the younger out. Tony did not harmonise with 
his thoughts of that sweetly animated look which met 
his mental vision in his interrupted firelight dream. 
With a prodigious sigh Tony went doorwards, and 
unlike his usual kindliness and genial charm of 
manner in wooing his visitor from his fit of depres- 
sion, Wynn nodded a careless dismissal, and sank 
again into thought. 

The stimulus of Cordelia’s presence removed, his late 
spiritual mood had relaxed. The serene brow, the 


‘‘I ’ll Go to Her, and Say to Her- 


219 


liberty of thought that had responded to her magic, 
had vanished ; instead, there was a hardness of look 
that testified to feeling restrained within a certain limit ; 
the preponderance of one idea weighted him. 

At last he rose almost impatiently, and turning out 
the lamps securely locked the studio, and turned to- 
wards the cottage. Action, he felt, was imperative, 
though dangerous. He would go to Marvel, and in- 
sist upon a speedy marriage, then make their plans 
known to Max. 

In the darkness surrounding the cottage he bumped 
into Tony. 

‘ ‘ I b — beg your pardon, ’ ^ stuttered he when he could 
find breath. I hope I have n’t hurt you ? There ’s 
nobody at home, don’t you know ! ” 

I did n’t know or I should n’t be here ! ” answered 
Wynn with an edge on his voice that filed Tony’s sens- 
itive feelings. Wynn was irritated. The whole po- 
sition precipitated itself upon him unpleasantly ; the 
two domains — that in which he stood a distinguished 
man, entitled to consideration, and that which left him 
open to the vulgar suspicion he detected in Tony’s 
voice — touched one another too closely. And, God! 
he belonged to both I He made an involuntary move- 
ment to leave the other man in undisputed possession 
of the field. That his wife could be approached by a 
Tony Armstrong with any reasonable hope or right, 
cheapened Marvel in his eyes and vulgarised himself 


220 


The Untold Half 


in his own. The unexpected encounter brought his 
state of mind to a climax, and while Tony was wonder- 
ing what the deuce was the matter with Wynn that he 
was so confoundedly huffy, Wynn was strangling his 
inclination to take his companion by the scruff of the 
neck and throw him into the lake. 

In the licence he gave his mood in its escape from 
his will, that night ever stood to him for a descent into 
hell where he was scorched and scarred. And all 
through the fire it was Cordelia’s voice, her eyes, her 
spiritual presence, that held him to that which made it 
possible for him to say, when he faced the day again, 

I will not be a scoundrel.” 

But he was thankful for the reprieve, and in the in- 
terval worked as one to whom work is salvation. And 
the beauty of the face, looking out at him with sombre 
eyes from its environment of cloud, pleaded for the 
girl ; won its old place in the man’s affection. 

When a week had passed without any word or sign 
from either Max or Marvel, wholesome curiosity not 
unmixed with anxiety and vexation had dissipated 
morbid regret. As for Tony, he was limp and lone. 
Wynn’s bitter confession to himself of weakness and 
failure had humbled him, but Tony seemed unconscious 
of any overtures, his soul was out of harmony with all 
the world, and all his force was concentrated on watch- 
ing the cottage for sign of habitation. When one 
morning he saw the smoke curling from the chimney, 


‘‘ I ’ll Go to Her, and Say to Her 


221 


a critical bystander would have pronounced him insane. 
While his blood was yet in a whirl and his pulses beat- 
ing like sledge-hammers, the kitchen door opened, and 
Marvel, dressed in the old familiar blue serge, came 
down the steps towards him. Before Tony could realise 
the situation and place himself advantageously before 
her, he found her hand in his, and her dark eyes pene- 
trating, it seemed to him, to his soul of souls. He had 
no words, there seemed no need of any ; an indescrib- 
able exaltation and expansion had come to life, its 
horizons were boundless ! When he could see, he 
noted that Marvel’s face was pale and her lips tremu- 
lous. By common impulse they turned from the direc- 
tion of the studio and faced the snow- fields, which were 
gleaming like solid silver in the bright sunshine. 
Manapouri was its deepest blue. Nature had dressed 
the morning in purple and white. 

So glad to see you, you don’t know ! ” murmured 
Tony, taking side glances at every step, with a desper- 
ate effort to appear at ease, while he trembled in every 
limb. 

But his companion did not seem to note his embar- 
rassment ; her vision was turned inward. 

It ’s a glowious morning ! ” proceeded Tony, who 
revelled in its light, and the transition that the girl’s 
presence had made on earth and sky. His eyes were 
opened to see the gleaming hoar-frost on the grass 
in the hollows ; he heard the birds calling from the 


222 


The Untold Half 


bush. Only when he looked up at Marvel’s face again 
did his own sadden — there was a look of age upon its 
youth. 

'‘Yes,” she said dreamily, and as though almost sur- 
prised, “it is beautiful. Has it ever struck you, Mr. 
Armstrong, how absolute, how sufficient unto itself. 
Nature is ? It has a spirit that is unconscious of all 
circumstance.” 

“ I — ah ! ” responded Tony, tip-toeing in his anxiety 
to rise to this unexpected mood of Marvel’s. “ Nature 
is pwofound, powerful, even selfish. It goes its own 
way, don’t you know, without any considewation for 
anybody. Its motives spwing fwom itself, it is beyond 
the influence of anything extewior, anything foweign. 
It considers its own laws alone,” concluded he a little 
resentfully. 

‘ ‘ It has eternal youth, ’ ' said the girl not yet twenty. 

“ Age,” responded Tony, “ if it were not a tewwible 
symptom which pwecedes death, would be — er — a time 
of peace. The home is then a — a — sanctuary where 
two hearts — possibly more, don’t you know — beat as 
one” — he took a long, adoring look, seeing a vision 
of what he trusted was not wholly inaccessible, and 
gulped down a big heart-throb — “ for the twain that 
are one flesh have expewienced that the — er — affections 
and — er — duties that are habitual are not wholly bawen 
of joy, don’t you know.” 

Marvel turned to him quickly, and with a little 


I ’ll Go to Her, and Say to Her 223 

caressing movement held his arm a moment with her 
hand. 

Thank you ! ’’ she said, with the slightest possible 
tremor in her tones. ‘ ‘ I shall remember that. ’ ’ 

They crunched the scented bracken beneath their 
feet for a silent pace or two, then the girl went on : 
I think that is the way to look at life.'^ 

She made a desperate attempt to crush down some 
emotion, and turning her troubled eyes to Tony, pro- 
ceeded : All sorts of difficulties are anticipated that 
never come to pass. When we are young, just because 
we are young, we fancy unless we get a certain thing 
that we shall always be poor. I know^ because — be- 
cause I have had that kind of obstinacy myself.’' She 
flushed and grew embarrassed, then went on desper- 
ately : ' ‘ But everyone feels in the end that the happi- 
ness of others is better than your own ; is, in fact, your 
own.” 

Miss Mewedith — ” gasped Tony. But what more 
he had to say was never spoken. 

I 'm not Miss Meredith,” interrupted Marvel, 
‘‘I 'm married. To Max. I 'm Mrs. Hawthorne 
now.” 

Again she laid her hand softly on Tony’s arm. He 
felt her action. He saw that the sun still shone ; knew 
that he walked one of earth’s fairest by-ways ; felt 
that the waters along the shore were trying to say 
something soothing. But it was the end of the world 


224 


The Untold Half 


to him. Those short sentences, “I’m not Miss Mere- 
dith. . . . I ’m Mrs. Hawthorne now,” had 

changed more lives than his. 

“Max has been ill — very ill,” proceeded the voice 
by his side. “ My father hurt him, and disappeared. 
It was my father’s work, not anything that can be 
healed, or passed over, or forgotten. Max may be 
blind for life — helpless ! Think of it — helpless ! All 
this” — her voice rose to a cry, and she waved her 
hand with a gesture indicating the magnificence of 
mountain and lake — “ all this lost to him for ever. 
And Max had only three things in life — his mother, 
the mountains, and me ! ’ ’ 

She still walked on, more quickly than at first, and 
while yet the intoxication of her presence warmed ex- 
istence for Tony, an inner voice warned him of the soli- 
tary years to come, out of sight, out of harmony ; of his 
empty house where he would watch in his heart for 
this dazzling vision, watch without expectation, with a 
faithfulness ever ready for her, and no hope of her 
coming. He listened to many things she had to say ; 
his senses interpreted but one fact : “I’m married to 
Max. I ’m Mrs. Hawthorne now.” 

He roused at length. 

“ Will you tell Wynn ? ” she asked. “I’m always 
bothering you.” 

Something in the pitiful eyes and their entreating 
expression stilled selfish sorrow. The exhaustion of 


I ’ll Go to Her, and Say to Her 


225 


the girl’s face and frame appealed to that unselfish 
tenderness that lies at the bottom of most men. He 
stepped close up beside her, his look as soft as a wo- 
man’s, checked his first word and impulse, then, free 
from the burden of self, took her cold, trembling hand 
in both his own, and patted it reassuringly. 

“ Don’t you twouble about me. Miss — Mrs. Haw- 
thorne. I ’m vewy gwateful for your confidence and 
twust, don’t you know. And if ever I can — er — pwove 
that — ” His eyes fell, he moved uneasily from one 
foot to the other, then added desperately: Our fwiend- 
ship has been quite out of the common wut, don’t you 
know. But I weally must be going.” 

‘‘I ’ve hurt him someway, I know I have,” said 
Marvel, looking after him ; ‘‘ but it can’t be helped,” 
she added. ‘‘We most of us get hurt one way or 
another ! ” 

Night had come down once more upon Manapouri, 
and the windows of Beach Cottage sent their bright 
shafts of light over the water. In the kitchen Marvel 
moved softly about in the glow of the fire. She did 
her work with her old deftness, but with a weary sort 
of patience, slackening speed, struggling back with an 
efibrt, relaxing again, and finally, sinking into her old 
rocker and leaning her bright head on the cushion, 
slipped into absorbed thought. The house was 
wrapped in silence ; silence deeper than death had 
brought it. Then suddenly quick firm footsteps ap- 


226 


The Untold Half 


preached and ascended to the door. The sluggish 
blood leaped at the girl’s heart and coursed through 
her veins, her eyes were startled and wide ; she half 
rose, then sank to her seat again, and clasping her 
hands together, called in answer to the knock : 

‘‘ Come in ! ” 

Wynn entered, and closed the door after him in that 
neat, precise way of his Marvel knew and liked. She 
rose languidly and closed another door leading to the 
lobby, then turned to face the man she loved, and who 
waited with question in his face. His bearing, his 
beauty, the subtle fragrance of his clothes, the sight, 
the feeling of him were such a stimulus that the 
reaction after her torpor made her giddy ; she sat 
down again, and Wynn moved opposite, looking 
down upon her. She felt his eyes and dared not 
look up. 

“ Speak, she said at length, almost in a whisper, 
“ say what you came to say ! 

He missed her old imperious manner. He had 
raced here in order to speak what was in his mind — his 
indignation at her treatment of him. He had braced 
himself to a sacrifice which she had disdained ; shocked 
him by an indecency. She belonged to him by love, 
and by the rights of love ; he had felt it impossible for 
her ever to disregard those rights, and in the first mo- 
ments of triumph over his regrets and comparisons she 
had set him aside contemptuously. 


I 'll Go to Her, and Say to Her ” 227 

* ‘ What is there to say to make your action under- 
standable ? It is inexplicable ! he said. 

She winced at his bitterness of tone, but most at the 
curled lip. ‘ ‘ Then why did you come ? ’ ’ she flashed 
out at him. She could not bear to seem other than 
true. Wanting in moral scruple, she had saved his 
soul at the cost of her own, but she had not strength 
to meet with calmness the scorn in his eyes. She 
wrestled with her rising passion, then said in agonised 
entreaty : You must have known, you must, that it 
was all a mistake — a deadly mistake. It never would 
have been, never, had I known what I knew later. It 
would have been murderous for you — have killed all 
for you 

And incoherently at flrst she stumbled into her tale ; 
told without reserve or exaggeration all that had been 
revealed to her by her father ; of Max’s love, of her 
determination to face life alone and begin anew ; of her 
flight and Max’s action ; her father’s revenge, and the 
verdict of the doctors that the blow would possibly re- 
sult in lifelong blindness. 

Can you understand now ? ” she asked when her 
recital came to an end. Could I leave him then, 
alone and in the dark, after years of cherishing ? My 
father had worked enough misery to him and his, yet 
he was willing to shelter and protect me — shamed 
though I was — and could I leave him then ? ” 

Never had Wynn seen her so moved and tremulous. 


228 


The Untold Half 


There was a pitiful energy through all she said that 
sought to direct him from the fact that she had re- 
nounced for his sake. Her unselfishness affected him 
poignantly, and there was a pathos in it almost un- 
bearable. And if ever he loved her it was then ; for 
through all she said and had done was that painful 
note of self-depreciation that had made herself of no 
account for his sake — to save him and his name for the 
old ways. While he had been fretting for the morrow, 
she had developed a capacity for heroism that put him 
to shame. In her chastened beauty, with love and 
courage and patience shining from her eyes, she looked 
more desirable than he had ever seen her look, and 
the thought occurred, was it not possible he had let a 
prize of life slip from his grasp ? 

‘ ‘ Had you no thought for me ? ” he asked chok- 
ingly ; and in all that tale of sorrow that was Marvel’s 
happiest moment, for she met the tenderness of his 
glance. 

That is all dead and done with now ! ” she said, 
rising with that quiet and newly attained dignity that 
became her so well. '' It is Max now.” 

They discussed his hurt, Wynn eagerly suggesting 
what might be done ; relieved at the thought of action, 
eager in some way to make up for an unconscious 
wrong done to the man whom he so greatly admired. 
It was impossible to sit down calmly, he said, and 
accept darkness for such a man ; a man who found 


I 11 Go to Her, and Say to Her 


229 


heaven in the light of day. And Marvel listened, 
realising that every soul has its own unfathomed 
depths that not the dearest and nearest can sound. 
But Wynn was suffering too while he talked so passion- 
ately — her shame, her loss, her humiliation ! The ex- 
pression of her eyes was that of a woman out in the 
wilderness. He pressed her hands convulsively and 
hurried away, and as he stumbled along in the dark he 
muttered hoarsely: It won’t bear talking or thinking 
of— it is only to feel.” 

And Marvel with her face pressed to the glass was 
straining her eyes after him as he went. “It is all 
over and done ! ” she murmured. “You can go 
through life without me, my darling. And it would 
be all loneliness and solitariness for Max. It is all 
over and done with, for ever.” 




CHAPTER XVIII 


THE MAD artist 


IFE had once more broken its chains of winter, 



1—^ spring sunshine melted the snow, avalanches fell, 
rumbled, echoed and re-echoed in the clear upper air ; 
gorges and streams roared and seethed deep in the un- 
trodden forest, filled by the bounteous falls in their 
reckless dance. Blue mountain-ducks, with their 
broods of young, fearlessly paddled among the water- 
reeds and rushes ; the golden toi-toi waved its feathery 
head among the giant ferns ; white clematis trailed 
over the dark birches, and in every shaded nook and 
cranny mountain lilies and red and purple flora smiled 
from the rocks, while far up the heights the eidelweiss 
called ^;>r the eye and hand of man. All the air was 
filled with music of water and birds, and the new 
leaves whispering together of a new world. 

Into the song of the golden morning a man’s voice 
blended — 


“ My object all sublime 
I shall achieve in time 
230 


The Mad Artist 


231 


To let the punishment fit the crime, 

The punishment fit the crime.** 

And the great mountains — Wynn’s only audience- 
seemed to uncover their faces to listen, and then to 
re veil. 

“ A source of innocent merriment. 

Of innocent merriment.** 

Wynn tended the sail of his little craft that seemed 
to skip the wavelets of the clear watei in time to his 
song. His straw hat lay at the bottom of the boat, 
and the breeze blew his abundant hair, a silver thread 
showing here and there among the gold. The grey 
eyes had lost something of their keenness, but nothing 
of the intentness of a year ago ; his fair skin was tanned 
by the mountain air, and the face, although its lines 
had deepened, had softened in expression ; its look of 
power had intensified, and somewhere in its expression 
was that hint of labour accomplished which gives to 
even a commonplace countenance an uncommon in- 
terest, and adds dignity and meaning to a fine one. 

His life had been very real to him during the past 
year, far as he was from the swirl and fever of the 
world ; he was not a man to pursue shadows, or build 
vain superstructures that had no solid foundation. 
His work had justified his hope and his faith in him- 
self. He had lived with his idea till he had expressed 
it. And the woman on the canvas was an intense 


232 


The Untold Half 


reality to him, but the creature he had brought into 
life was not the girl whom he had met on this lake a 
year ago — it was his vision of her, the prophecy of his 
thought. All these months the fierce passionate eyes 
had haunted and humbled him. His own genius was 
used to his chastisement ; alone with his art had been 
alone with his sin, and no flowery rhetoric would dress 
it in any other name. Even in his most optimistic 
mood there was a disordered thought ihat cast its 
shadow. He had long ago recognised the selfishness 
that had jeopardised Marvel’s peace even for an hour, 
and he was sufiFering at her hands much that she 
groaned under when first they met — the pain of a 
generous nature burdened by debt. 

More and more as he gathered the fruit of her giving 
did he crave to repay. It was monstrous to be involved 
without chance of restoration, the thought was dog- 
matic and insistent — the half of his life, its honour and 
all that was his, belonged to Marvel. It was their com- 
pact, his sworn bond. His name and protection had 
been the only one restitution, and he blamed himself 
none the less bitterly because the girl had swept him 
unceremoniously from her path ; he guessed the truth 
too nearly for that — she had detected his indifference. 
He had taken her strong untrained passions too little 
into account. But if she acted swiftly she acted largely 
— having once put her hand to the plough she did not 
turn back. Often he had stood before that sketch of 


The Mad Artist 


233 


her where she turned away, and longed to bring her 
face to face with himself and see if it was well with her. 
But she had made any sort of friendship impossible. 
Max had closed like an oyster. His shrinking from 
intercourse was too palpable not to respect ; but the 
sight of his ‘‘ strong man Kwasind’' with bandaged 
eyes, leaning upon the arm of the girl- wife who moved 
slowly beside him, sent Wynn to the shelter of his 
studio. His one and only visit to Max had ended 
badly. At a suggestion of Wynn’s that a famous ocu- 
list should attend him, the blind giant had visibly 
trembled. 

Owe no man anything ! ” he said with churlish 
brevity. Did he suspect ? It was impossible to know, 
but never since his closer relations with Marvel had he 
renewed by so much as a tone the old intimacy. So 
that Wynn had been alone with his work, and the 
high-strung nature of the man had realised a little what 
the banishment of Hagar stood for. 

In spite of this, however, he had had no thought of 
desertion. He came with an object, and in this he had 
been a law unto himself. His dream and he were 
wedded till death or its realisation did them part. But 
this individual life had left an indelible mark upon 
him ; the more so that he at no time had been in love 
with artificiality. 

“ My object all sublime 
I shall achieve in time,^* 


234 


The Untold Half 


and rounding a headland cut the refrain short and gave 
him business with the sail ; for the fresh wind blew 
briskly at the bend, which he dodged by keeping 
closely in shore. He sailed with deliberate purpose. 
Months ago he had promised Cordelia Grey to visit 
her father ; but — and here again he had been his own 
lawgiver — he would not indulge himself in any possi- 
bility of joy during his penance, or put Cordelia’s face 
and influence between his realised conception of A 
Spirit of Storm, The birth of a child to Marvel had 
cut his bonds and bound her afresh to Max. This fact, 
and his completed work, set his conscience free ; the 
future was still his own. With a deep breath he 
awakened to feel himself forgiven by circumstance, if 
not in his secret thought. 

He loitered on the glittering waters, by no means in 
haste to be through with this first day’s emancipation, 
so that it was in the red gold of sunset that he came to 
the pebbly crescent bay where, in a grove of birch- 
trees, backed by the everlasting mountains, stood the 
log cottage where ‘ ‘ the mad artist ’ ’ and his daughter 
dwelt. Under the natural avenue of trees he followed 
the ascending path, crunching tender ferns at every 
step. There was no sign of life about the quaint cot- 
tage, but Wynn’s quick eye detected the open door. 
He ascended the steps. 

The room, with its painted walls and pillars, was 
flooded with the crimson light of the setting sun. At 


The Mad Artist 


235 


the farther end of the room a tall commanding figure 
of a man with snow-white hair stood in a dramatic atti- 
tude with upraised arm. He wore a faded crimson silk 
dressing-gown ; and although his back was turned 
towards the door there was something so striking 
about his appearance that Wynn involuntarily paused. 
His head was thrown back, and in the undisguised 
accents of an educated man he was anathematising the 
unseen. 

“ Sir,” he said — and in that first word Wynn recog- 
nised the sweetness of Cordelia’s voice — “ if You are a 
Gentleman it is time we came to an understanding ” 

Wynn knocked. 

My daughter believes in You,” he proceeded, un- 
heeding the knock, “ in the justice of Your dealings. 
As for me, I can only say that if You are Almighty You 
are taking a prolonged advantage of a lady’s faith.” 

His arm fell to his side, and Wynn knocked again. 
But again the voice and arm were upraised. 

Deal with me, man to man. Sir, but spare a 
woman ” 

Wynn’s knocking made itself heard, and the figure 
turned abruptly. It was a fine face that met the 
younger man’s eyes — sensitive, clear-cut, with lofty 
brow and blue-black eyes that were shining then with 
the intensity of the passion Wynn had surprised. A 
white beard fell upon the broad chest. He looked like 
one of the patriarchs of old, the folds of his dressing- 


236 


The Untold Half 


gown not hiding the length of limb or detracting from 
his stateliness. 

He bowed low. 

Mr. Grey, I presume?*^ said Wynn, matching 
the bow. '' I fear that my call may appear intrus- 
ive. I am Wynn Winter, and have long desired to 
make your acquaintance, sir, who are a fellow of the 
brush. 

Mr. Grey’s face illumined. ‘‘ You are welcome, sir 
— you honour me,” he replied, a sudden agitation 
making itself perceptible through the stately and old- 
fashioned courtesy of his manner. ‘‘ Your name was a 
familiar one before my daughter had the pleasure of 
meeting you. Pray be seated. Cordelia will return 
from her ramble presently, and what a surprise for 
her ! She spoke of your coming and believed in it. 
I — er — doubted. I have learned a trick of doubt. It 
is a reprehensible weakness of age. I ask your pardon, 
sir.” Then, as though the words recalled the scene 
Wynn had interrupted, he added without prefix, “ I 
was rehearsing — a line from a comedy ! ” 

His eyes had lost their light, and looked tired, an 
anxious expression stole into them ; but his scrutiny 
of Wynn’s face told him nothing, and Wynn moved to 
examine the painted windows and walls. When he 
turned again to his host he was startled. The man’s 
face had flushed, his features were pinched and drawn. 
He muttered half to himself : 


The Mad Artist 


237 


‘‘ I shall never, in the years remaining, 

Paint pictures, no, nor carve you statues. 

Make you music that should all express me : 

So it seems I stand on my attainment.’^ 

Whatever had been on Wynn's tongue to say, he did 
not say it : fear of his criticism and despair were so 
plainly written upon the old man’s countenance. He 
had stumbled upon a tragedy — a life of labour that had 
fallen short. 

'‘You are taking the measure of my hand?” he 
asked a little defiantly, throwing his head back to face 
the successful man. 

“ I am admiring your work, sir,” answered Wynn, 
meeting the faded eyes with a steady gaze. He was 
known for the justice of his criticism. Dilettantism 
shrank from the harshness of it ; for the man who had 
never spared his own sensibilities where art was con- 
cerned had no mercy upon the falling short of others. 
If it was worth anything it was worth a life’s devotion, 
and something told him this man had given his life in 
vain. The words of Browning’s painter occurred to 
Wynn — 

“ I do what many dream of all their lives. 

Dream ? strive to do, and agonise to do. 

And fail in doing.” 

And this man’s work was nobler, because without 
reward he laboured still. For the life of him Wynn 
could not have uttered one word to bow the grey head. 


238 


The Untold Half 


An unaccustomed wave of emotion rose to his throat 
and choked him ; success had drifted out of the old 
man’s reach. 

A life’s labour is sacred. I honour you ! ” he said 
huskily, and held out his hand. 

At that moment a white figure gleamed in the door- 
way, and Wynn met the eyes that shone like the silver 
of stars. Cordelia’s fair skin grew rosy, or was it the 
sunset fiush that brightened it ? 

' ‘ Thou hast been long, but I was sure that thou 
wouldst come,” she said, smiling as she gave her soft, 
cool hand. 

Wynn had a sense of healing as he held it, the suffer- 
ing in which he had been involved slipped from him. 
The girl looked at him attentively. 

‘‘Thou hast been paying the price of fame,” she 
said softly, and in the half-moment’s pause before she 
concluded the sentence Wynn felt the blood of shame 
burn in his face — ‘‘ labour ! ” she added. 

“ Labour the price of fame ! ” burst from her father 
before Wynn could answer her. ‘‘And how many 
labourers win it ? One in a hundred — ten hundred ! 
Labour is the blood of genius, spilled often in vain. 
There is a set of workers who never know the immortal 
fire, clever at hunting consideration, who fight hand to 
hand the hostility and indifference of the world and 
force a reputation. But a proud spirit regards the 
struggle beneath it, and dies unknown.” 


The Mad Artist 


239 


His voice sank into tones of infinite pathos. For a 
moment silence fell upon the room, now grey in twi- 
light shadow. Cordelia’s voice broke the spell and 
created a new atmosphere. 

' ‘ Our guest fasts, father mine ! Wilt thou not dress, 
dear heart, while I prepare supper ? ’ ’ 

I beg your pardon,” he said, and disappeared. 

Wynn was appalled by this sombre figure — type of 
what he himself might have been, towards which he 
might have gravitated. While Cordelia moved softly 
about the room he sauntered beneath the trees, con- 
scious of another self that pitied, instead of despised, 
failure. Existence would have been impossible to 
himself under such circumstances ; yet here was a 
man, dead to the world, who evidently had made 
desperate struggles for life. He shivered at the abyss 
presented. In his keen passion for life the thought of 
nothingness was acutest torture. Then, with a throb, 
almost of pain, he thought of the sweet youth of Cor- 
delia, consumed and shadowed by the failure of her 
father. Consumed ? shadowed ? Nay, he must recog- 
nise that she was typical of joy and peace. Ah ! there 
he had it; she had peace, not hope — hope that seduced 
the heart to restlessness and distraction. 

When he returned to the cottage, Cordelia and her 
father awaited him. The room and table pleased his 
fastidious taste in its arrangement of flowers and lights; 
the table-linen was spotless and of a fine quality, 


240 


The Untold Half 


although, as he observed later, it was darned in many 
places. The darns were exquisitely done, and told 
their own story of poverty and scrupulous neatness. 
Mr. Grey wore a black coat, much worn, and of an 
old-fashioned make, but free from any kind of speck ; 
his linen, too, was faultless as Cordelia^ s gown. Her 
pure, radiant beauty transfigured the little room, and 
Wynn missed nothing : the simple meal might have 
been a banquet for all he knew, till, with an assump- 
tion of ease, Mr. Grey said : 

‘‘ Cordelia, you have forgotten wine — Mr. Winter 
will drink wine ! 

The girl looked with a shadow of surprise and re- 
proach at her father, then said simply, We have no 
wine.’' 

Her clear eyes sought those of her guest, her voice 
was low but distinct, and something in the unaffected 
simplicity of the statement repudiated pretence. 

'' I am sorry,” she added, still to Wynn, whose 
answer brought her bright smile. But the old man 
did not leave the matter there ; blamed himself for his 
negligence — his oversight that their isolated position 
made it impossible to rectify. And meanwhile Cor- 
delia’s eyes fell as if in shame, not at poverty, but 
at the insincerity that attempted to apologise for and 
hide it. 

She bore herself with the unaffected ingenuousness 
that accepted the simplicity of her surroundings, and 


The Mad Artist 


241 


presided over them with the grace that would have 
made luxury seem immaterial, an accidental setting. 
If her father wandered off into railing against an un- 
appreciative public, or sank into melancholy, she 
brought him back to the real and the happy, in a way 
that instantly occupied his thoughts outside himself. 

That Mr. Grey, with a daughter of such exceptional 
beauty, should be isolated from all intercourse with the 
world seemed remarkable to Wynn until he learned his 
curious history. At college it appeared he had de- 
veloped an abnormal love of painting, and devoted his 
time to it, to the neglect of other work. His father, 
who had other aims for him, tried to discourage the 
idiosyncrasy, and, ultimately disappointed, had cut 
him adrift. Till middle age the man had dabbled, 
possessed by the idea that a masterpiece would justify 
him to himself and the world. Late in life he had 
married a fair young Quakeress, of good family and 
small fortune, which, his listener surmised, had been 
spent in the hopeless quest. At her death he brought 
his daughter to the wild magnificence of Fiordland, 
possessed still with the haunting thought of success — a 
thought which had developed to mania. 

I am accustomed to misrepresentation,'' he con- 
cluded, with that excitement of tone and gesture pe- 
culiar to him when art was the subject of discussion. 

* ‘ I have been a martyr to the dishonesty of dealers. 
The hope of many men would have been killed long 


242 


The Untold Half 


ago. Look at my hair, white, sir, but my day will 
come ! ” — his voice sank to a whisper, his trembling, 
nervous hands clasped — ‘ ‘ my day will come ! ^ ^ 

The moon has risen ! ” said Cordelia, rising and 
leading to the door. 

His host had pressed Wynn to stay for the night, 
and being assured that his presence would in no way 
incommode, he had consented. Mr. Grey joined him 
in his saunter to the shore. 

A fine country ! he said enthusiastically, ‘‘ and 
as yet an almost untouched field. The novelist as well 
as the painter, sir, has ample working ground — there 
are countless unpainted pictures and unwritten stories, 
for to these shores have drifted much of the flotsam and 
jetsam of the civilised world. Many a dead hope and 
blasted life finds its resurrection under the southern 
cross ! He pointed as he spoke to the starry symbol 
of hope. ' ‘ And resurrection, ' ' he added, ' ‘ must always 
be more interesting than crude birth.” 

‘‘There is poetry, too,” answered Wynn, “some- 
times a terrible poetry, in new existence, with its 
fresh condition of thought and action, feeling its bond 
to the old and troubled by its youthful and contra- 
dictory inclinations.” 

‘ ‘ Experience strengthens. ’ ’ It was Cordelia's sweet, 
clear voice. 

Wynn turned to her with deference where she stood 
like a spirit of the silvery night. For a moment he 


The Mad Artist 


243 


looked into her face, then at the white-haired old man 
walking slowly away. 

‘‘ Where it does not crush ! ” he answered sadly. 

They turned by one consent and wandered to the 
pebbly bay, and again Wynn fell under the spell of the 
girl’s limitless hope. They talked of other scenes and 
other lives, he sometimes with almost passionate eager- 
ness, she with delightfulness of comprehension and 
knowledge, but as two who had long known each other 
and were drawn together by a knowledge of something 
that hurt, to which hurt she somehow brought healing 
and suggestion of heroism. She softened all she touched, 
freed their converse from restricted and personal mean- 
ing. The tone of her mind was a tonic to him, and 
lifted him above the torturing regret of the past months. 
Then she asked a question that brought him to earth 
with a shock. 

How does Max Hawthorne bear his blindness ? ” 

I cannot tell you. He is reticent and proud ! ” he 
answered with a tone of impatience. 

“ I can understand that kind of pride,” she re- 
sponded quietly, '' the pride that does not pose, but 
accepts a destiny of sorrow, even of death, without a 
cry. ’ ’ 

He flashed a look at her. Her clear-cut profile 
showed plainly in the moonlight, and the serenity of 
her countenance was not marred. 

‘‘And Marvel’s marriage, too,” she proceeded. 


/ 


244 


The Untold Half 


“ There are women who have a fund of devotion to 
whom happiness is not all-sufi5cient ; to such sacrifice 
is essential. She hath a tameless spirit, and the child 
will console her.'* 

Because he ought to have been her strength and had 
not, a shadow of foreboding darkened the light of his 
face. For a moment a whirl of feeling, a longing to be 
rid of his secret and let this woman be his judge, 
almost carried away his reserve. The next he remem- 
bered that his betrayal of Marvel would be dastardly, 
and a dull red dyed his face at the consciousness that 
Cordelia was separate and apart from the ignoble of 


life. 


‘‘And the young man, Tony?'' she asked again 
smilingly. 

‘ ‘ He has sent no word since his departure. ' ' 



f 



CHAPTER XIX 

TWO PICTURES 

W YNN stood before his second completed picture, 
and it was the face of Cordelia that looked at 
him from the canvas. A light of more than pleasure 
was on the painter’s face as he gazed ; the tense, 
strained, nervous look of the worker who has lived for 
months with one idea had quelled the old youthful ex- 
pression, but there was a softness in the eyes, a curve 
to the cynical mouth, that added to the original power 
and strength of the face. 

‘‘You lifted me, like the strength that you are,” he 
murmured ; then veiling the pictured face went out. 
He threw his shoulders back and drew in the scented 
air of woodland and water. It was one of those magic 
autumn days that seem emancipated from time, mark- 
ing no past, hinting no future. Every fragrance and 
tint, every gleam and glint of every season seemed to 
have gathered itself into the glamour and richness of 
the hour, giving the senses liberty, making every joy 
seem accessible. 


245 


246 


The Untold Half 


As Wynn strolled on, lie occasionally paused to gaze 
up and around as though he would fain draw into 
deepest memory the immortal beauty that had inspired 
him. The regret of farewell was in his eyes, for his 
hour of departure was drawing near ; soon he would 
replunge again into the living world, feel its throbbing 
pulse, breathe its breath, and these solemn heights, 
these silences, be a thing of the past. Of the past ? 
Was there such a thing as a dead past? Did not 
yesterday make to-day, and to-day to-morrow ? He 
had wandered here less than two years ago content, 
secure in his own feeling of irresponsibility ; but the 
human forces around him had woven themselves into 
his destiny, and the result could never come to an end, 
only change phase — passion and love and achievement 
had changed the current of his thought and action, 
would change them for always. 

His work — and the grave intensity of his look deep- 
ened to profound gladness — his work was well done, 
it would live longer than he himself. He knew that. 
It was the first time the exacting creative spirit had 
been satisfied. His mind fiew back to that first talk 
with Marvel : her suggestion of the Creator as an un- 
appreciated Artist. He paused again and let his eyes 
range over the matchless panorama of colour and form, 
and smiled. 

‘‘ And God saw that it was good,’^ he quoted, ‘‘ and 
was satisfied in His work,” he added. 


Two Pictures 


247 


He sauntered on again slowly, over the soft bracken 
and grass, drawing his wide-awake over his eyes to 
screen them from the dazzle of the afternoon sun, and 
in the slumberous quiet he heard only his own thoughts. 
One question must be answered before he went — not by 
himself, by Cordelia. He never asked himself whether 
he loved her. It seemed to him that his being had 
been merged in hers from the first sound of her voice ; 
that he had been waiting for her all his life. He was 
conscious of nothing new and strange — only an old 
want satisfied. He had hemmed his love round with 
sacred silence while it took shape and form ; hitherto 
he had been his own master, shaping his own course, 
willing each separate act, gauging the possibilities of 
circumstance, selecting, rejecting with one definite 
clear-eyed purpose — the triumph of his art ; but self- 
sufficiency had fallen from him. He had succumbed, 
and henceforth his art must succumb to this new 
adoration. He had lingered with it in ecstasy and 
humility — and now ? Should he be cast back upon 
darkness and nothingness ? 

Unconsciously he had strolled to the dell where he 
and Max had first met by the little waterfall, almost 
two years ago, and the young explorer’s friendship 
had promised to meet the demand he made upon it. 
He thought now with a sigh that his strong man 
Kwasind’s first reluctance to yield had seemed pro- 
phetically to sense the wrong he should one day un- 


248 


The Untold Half 


consciously do him. He turned the screen made by 
shrubs, and there was Kwasind, the vision of his wak- 
ing thoughts, leaning against the red-brown rock just 
beyond reach of the flashing water, his arms folded 
over his breast, his head slightly raised, as if listening 
to the music he loved, the music of streams, for a tender 
smile lingered on his lips. On a stone near sat Marvel, 
dressed in one of her old favourite dresses of blue, with 
vivid touches of scarlet. She was slightly bending for- 
ward, her hands loosely clasped on her knees, her dark 
mournful eyes fixed upon Max’s face as though his rapt 
expression pleased and absorbed her. Wynn’s pulses 
quickened. The noise of the water had covered the 
light sound of his footsteps over the grass, and for an 
undisturbed moment he looked eagerly. In this un- 
conscious, unrehearsed scene, as he stood regarding the 
two striking figures that gave a human interest to a 
scene that stretched out and about and beyond them, 
in strength and power, he got a glimpse of what he 
hungered for, their peace, and which meant more to 
him just now than the panorama of Nature’s loveli- 
ness. It was only a momentary glance, then he went 
forward quickly. Marvel sprang from her low seat, 
the truant blood surging to her face. 

‘‘ Wynn ! ” she cried, the old name slipping out in 
her startled astonishment. 

Yes,” he answered, his agitation scarcely less than 
her own, uncovering his head with one hand, while he 


Two Pictures 


249 


held out the other, a mute entreaty in his eyes that 
urged— “ Take it.” 

” I finished work early, and strolled unconsciously, 
and here I am. And I am glad to have met you, Mrs. 
Hawthorne, and Max, for I return to England very 
shortly, and before I go I want you both to visit my 
studio — ” “ and see my pictures,” he had almost 
added, when the sight of Max’s drooping lids checked 
him. 

He was flurried and nervous, quite unlike the old 
cynical self-possessed manner that had aggravated 
Marvel of old. But she, quicker to recover her com- 
posure than he, helped him out, her own quiet tones 
sounding strangely in her ears. ” May I see your 
pictures ? You have painted Cordelia, have you not ? ’ ’ 
The sweet gravity of her manner further restored his 
composure. 

” Miss Grey has permitted me that honour,” he 
answered. 

Marvel’s eyes dwelt for a moment on his, then turned 
to Max, who stood near. His brow had contracted at 
the sound of Wynn’s voice, but cleared again magically 
at the mention of Cordelia’s name. Had something 
in Wynn’s voice betrayed his secret? Marvel’s 
bright colour faded, she drew a little back, pressing 
against the side of her husband ; he threw his arm 
about her shoulders half protectingly, half as though 
in habit. 


250 


The Untold Half 


^ ‘ If I had my old eyes I would come, ^ ’ he said in a 
low voice. 

Marvel started; her glance and Wynn's met involun- 
tarily. It was the first time that Max had ever referred 
to his loss, so careful had he been not to seem to re- 
proach her father; but that involuntary cry was enough 
to tell both his companions how he yearned to see his 
wife’s face. 

Wynn plunged into talk, and gave Max a description 
of the two pictures, or a sketch rather of the idea ; but 
in a restrained fashion, for he was an honest man in a 
dishonest position, and out of the pity and remorse and 
the new tenderness that seemed to have invaded his 
whole nature he detected himself trying to dispossess 
Max’s mind of any lurking idea of what Marvel’s 
picture might mean, and fill it with a new thought — 
that of Cordelia. He grew pale as he struggled with 
the situation. Whether Marvel was despising him, or 
even heard this verbal abandonment of her, he could 
not guess by any sign she made. She led Max care- 
fully, even tenderly ; and when she glanced up it was 
into his face, never beyond it. Where their roads 
crossed they stopped ; and Wynn, carried away by the 
hope that was in him, that the granite face might 
soften and the iron will relax, urged once more that 
Max would listen and place himself unreservedly in 
the hands of an oculist. But although Max’s voice 
faltered, he refused. 


Two Pictures 


251 


** I *11 trust to time and God’s help,” he responded. 

** I shall expect you at the studio at five, then, Mrs. 
Hawthorne. Miss Grey will be there to meet you,” 
he said, and lifting his cap hastily turned away. He 
was baffled and angry. ” Ignorance ! folly! ” he mut- 
tered. ” God’s help, forsooth ! There are no miracles 
except through science. What he means is, he ’ll not 
be helped by the devil — he ’s not sure yet whether I ’m 
false friend or true. Ah well I ’ ’ But the weight grew 
too heavy for thinking, and he bustled about, preparing 
the studio for his reception. 

Later, Marvel walked swiftly through the twilight ; 
the lighted roof that had been her beacon of other days 
shining through the trees. She knew what she should 
see : the flowers, and palms, and softly glowing lamps, 
and gleams of white marble in the luminous dusk — and 
another woman enthroned where she had never reigned I 
And this was the last time ; they should not meet 
again. She was glad. The peace of the past eighteen 
months had been like the peace after a storm; this after- 
noon’s encounter had ruffled it. But she had longed to 
see the picture that had cost her so dear ; had feared she 
might never see it. Now, when she stood outside the 
dividing wall, her heart beat cruelly. Wynn guided her 
gently across the room, and led her to a sofa. He felt 
how cold the little hand was, nor could he ignore the 
trouble in the beautiful face, into which he looked with 
no less disturbance in his own. He walked back to the 


252 


The Untold Half 


door, locked it, drew the dividing curtain between the 
two apartments of the studio yet closer than they had 
been drawn, then came back and looked gravely down 
at the trembling girl. 

‘‘ I am thankful for these few moments. Marvel ; it 
was good of you to come,” he began. I have been 
battling with doubt, child — doubt as to your happiness, 
doubt as to whether I am free as an honest man.” 

She looked at him almost wonderingly, feeling his 
agitation. Free ? You have been free all along ! ” 
she replied, as though not understanding his meaning. 

He sat down beside her and took one of her hands. 
‘‘You have claims which I could not ignore,” he pro- 
ceeded. “ I vowed my life to you, to you alone, and 
although you made it impossible for me to put my in- 
tentions into effect, I cannot feel wholly absolved until 
I hear you say that after deliberate thought you have 
forgiven me.” 

“ Yes,” she answered, and her hand shook in his. 
“Yes, I have, Wynn. I thought you understood ? ” 

She looked at him with imploring eyes, as though 
asking him not to try her beyond endurance. He 
slipped down on his knees, and held both her hands in 
a tight clasp. His lips quivered, and his voice shook. 

“ See, girl,” he stammered, “ I am where no man 
should be — at a woman's feet in remorse. I would 
give all that I shall win because of you, give doubly, 
if I could undo the hurt that I feel I have done you, 


Two Pictures 


253 


although I know that you have forgiven me, my gen- 
erous girl ! But through all these months to have you 
here in trouble beside me, and not be allowed to help, 
has been misery. I have wanted so terribly sometimes 
to tell you how beaten I have been.'' 

Their faces were on a level, his hands were still hold- 
ing hers, and his grey eyes were searching her dark 
ones. 

‘‘You are free for me, Wynn, free to marry Cor- 
delia," she said huskily. 

He drew in his breath. “ Swear, is there no reason, 
no suspicion, objection, in your mind why I should 
not ? If there is I will be bound to you for life, free 
from obligation, so that should circumstances arise I 
shall be at liberty to defend you. ' ' 

His voice faltered, his face was tense and drawn, 
awaiting her answer, but his keen gaze never flinched. 

‘ ‘ I have no claim on you, except that I loved you — 
once," she said, and saw the life and light that leapt to 
his eyes. He rose, and stooping down took her face in 
his hands, and holding it so for a moment, looked 
earnestly at it, then, bending, kissed her gravely on 
the forehead, and turned to open the door to Cordelia. 

With nerves vibrating still to his touch, like one 
stupefied. Marvel only half realised the situation. The 
gulf between herself and Wynn — their separateness — 
seemed to have been bridged over ; his soft, rich voice, 
his moving face, his pleading, his new tenderness, made 


254 


The Untold Half 


her helpless. It was cruel — she should not have come ! 
Rising, she moved across the room to the standard 
lamp and set her back against it ; and the warm light 
softened the haggard lines of her face and shone on the 
bronze of her abundant hair. She looked so beautiful 
that Cordelia, as she entered, was almost startled. 
Maternity, and acquaintance with grief, had spiritual- 
ised the face of the girl, and the scene through which 
she had just passed had cast its emotional spell, so that 
as Cordelia advanced with outstretched hand she felt 
almost a sense of shock. There was an electric feeling 
in the air, charged with the magnetism of the occupants 
of the apartment. She glanced from Marvel to Wynn, 
then back again to Marvel steadily, who had noted 
that the fair face had paled a little, and that the musi- 
cal voice somewhat faltered. 

‘‘ I am glad to see thee. Marvel. How well thou art 
looking ! ” Was she poisoning the moment to her? 
Marvel wondered, and though she could generously 
forgive the man his wrong against her, she could not 
forego the retaliation for that hour of agonising jealousy 
Cordelia had inflicted upon her in this very room. She 
had been crushed then. But there was no surrender 
to the other woman now in her mind and manner. 
She felt herself her equal, for had she not resigned, re- 
nounced, for her and the sake of the man they both 
loved ? For that Cordelia loved Wynn, Marvel did 
not doubt. 


Two Pictures 


255 


‘ ‘ And would she do more than give her life for his 
sake?’^ she asked herself. And before Cordelia pos- 
sessed a thought of his he had belonged to her. 

Oddly enough, it was Marvel who presided over the 
tea-table. There was no deliberate intention in the 
act, but she sank into her old place without a thought, 
and her manner was excellent. How she had im- 
proved! Wynn thought, and by reason of his gratitude 
and knowledge of her sacrifice, and in happiness 
of absolution, he was deferential, almost reverent 
in his bearing towards her, responding to her chang- 
ing mood, grave to meet her gravity, smiles to her 
smiles. 

Was Cordelia suffering ? Marvel had managed to 
exclude her from the conversation. But the passion- 
less face did not say. Wynn stole an occasional glance 
at her and tugged his moustache with a movement that 
Marvel knew meant anxiety ; but she did not deter. 
She made no mention of her husband or child, but 
linked herself to Wynn in past scenes. At length a 
feeling of compunction smote Marvel, and as they rose 
she shot a quick glance at the delicate aesthetic face. 
The light fell on the white-habited figure as they 
moved together where Wynn led, and Marvel fancied 
that Cordelia’s gown hung more loosely about her ; 
but the classical head, crowned by its golden coil, was 
held in serene dignity and grace. 

“ I don’t care I ” thought Marvel passionately. 


256 


The Untold Half 


Has n’t she made me suffer all through, has n’t she 
got the best of it — birth, culture, him ? ” 

Even as she excused herself in thought, Cordelia put 
out her hand sideways, and gave Marvel’s a reassuring 
pressure, as though she had guessed her tumult, and 
said ‘‘ Peace.” 

Wynn drew back the heavy curtains with shaking 
hands, and in a flood of light revealed two life-size can- 
vases, side by side. Marvel, with a low cry, clutched 
at Cordelia’s hand, as woman instinctively clutches at 
woman at the unveiling of her sin. For a few seconds 
her senses reeled, a mist swam before her eyes, then 
out of the mist, growing more and more distinct, she 
faced herself. Her breath came in laboured gasps, a 
crimson tide of beautiful colour dyed face and neck. 
She held Cordelia’s hand in a grasp that must have 
hurt, and trembled so that Wynn, watching, thought 
she would have fallen. 

His delicate nostrils were quivering, his face had 
whitened, he seemed scarce to breathe, as his eyes, 
bright with suppressed excitement, moved from the 
face of one woman to the other. It was a tremendous 
moment to him ; how should he be judged? What 
would his creation stand for ? 

Both faces were rapt, the women had forgotten each 
other, forgotten him in his work ! Cordelia, like a 
statue in marble, her brilliant eyes widening, made no 
movement, except that of glance from canvas back to 


Two Pictures 


^57 


canvas. Marvel let go Cordelia’s hand, and joining 
her own, moved a step nearer to the haunting, beauti- 
ful creature that seemed to be coming towards her 
through the enveloping mountain mists, with sorrow 
and courage and conflict in her eyes. Wynn had rati- 
fled his promise ; he had idealised and spiritualised. 
She put out her hand as though to lift a tress of the 
bronze mantle of hair that fell about the gleaming 
shoulders. The painter had done what he had hoped, 
suggested the bewildering distances, and on that rugged 
mountain-top, shrouded in cloud, the Spirit of Storm 
looked as though she had lost her way among the 
snow-peaks. 

“You beautiful, sorrowful creature ! ” 

It was Cordelia’s caressing voice that broke the 
spell. Marvel started. Her rival’s eyes were fixed 
upon the Spirit of Storm and then Marvel remembered, 
and moved to the other canvas. 

Her first sensation was one of intoxicating delight. 

There in the luminous summer night stood a girl, 

white-robed, her loosened golden hair falling to her 

knees, her hands full of eidelweiss, her eyes bright as 

the stars that gleamed above the purple and white of 

the snow-crowned peaks. The silver of waterfall 

glanced through white, curling vapours ; pale, night- 

tinted flora glowed in half-colours in the niches of the 

scintillating rock ; the magic and sheen of a summer 

night on the moonlit mountains wooed and dazzled the 
17 


258 


The Untold Half 


eyes. But it was the girl’s face that drew, and held, 
and riveted — peace, deep and profound, illumined it, 
exaltation shone through its hint of knowledge and 
sorrow and conflict. 

Marvel saw and understood. She read the happiness 
upon the living woman’s face, and realised that, let 
come what may, this would be enough. To have been 
the soul of the man’s soul would more than satisfy, 
would crown her ; to have been his growth, his enrich- 
ment, was to her to have amply lived. 

No wonder she could afford to pity the girl who had 
given herself in vain ! Again she looked at Cordelia, 
bitterness and yearning in her glance. How absolutely 
that gentle, austere girl had wrenched the position 
from her, and enthralled the soul inaccessible to her ! 

Wynn stood motionless, his deep-set eyes, fixed upon 
the fair, pure face, telling his own passionate story, 
seeking confirmation of his hope. 

How truly she had been right ! she told herself, when 
she was outside in the darkness. Wynn had rejected 
her from the beginning. She had been deceived only 
by her own passion, but with clearer vision she had cut 
his chains. Max’s love and his need of her had re- 
deemed her action from wantonness. 

She could only blindly follow instinct — education 
and experience had been limited — but she groped for 
the light, hungering, too, with woman’s need, for her 
small world set apart, where the activities of mind and 


Two Pictures 


259 


heart could find scope. The light of the cottage win- 
dow warmed her chilled blood with new zest and hope. 
Never had it stirred such emotion in her. There — 
there was her sphere, her happiness, because of her 
necessity. Max and her boy both needed her. She 
had forgotten them this afternoon, only this once, 
under that fatal spell ! Never any more — never any 
more ! 

She ascended the steps and opened the kitchen door. 
The old familiar room looked its cosiest in lamp and 
firelight. The pewter and delf glinted on the dresser, 
and where the light was strongest sat Max in knicker- 
bocker suit, his splendid limbs emphasised in their 
strength by the tiny child that slept in the shelter of 
his arm. He turned his head as Marvel entered, and 
over the sightless face a light spread. 

You Ve come,’^ he said. 

She slipped down on her knees beside him, and his 
hand strayed to her hair. 

“ Yes,’’ she said, ^ ^ I ’ve come. And I ’m glad to get 
back. Do you miss me when I leave you ? ” 

Her hungry heart clamoured for assurance that to 
this life she had meaning, that here she had not failed. 

Miss you ? ” he murmured brokenly. ‘‘You have 
always been life’s light to me.” 

He rested his cheek upon her hair and drew her 
closer, his chest heaving. Her changed tone had 
brought unaccustomed words to his tongue. What he 


26 o 


The Untold Half 


had feared, what dreaded, she did not know. The 
deepening thought that she held herself aloof while she 
gave her service had corroded ; that she but tried to 
expiate the wrong her father had done him. Was she, 
like her grandfather, serving sentence with her heart 
breaking for liberty ? 

Her manner brought a smile to his lips and hope to 
his heart. 

The child stirred and cried, and Marvel gathered the 
soft little body into her arms, and seating herself on 
her low rocker by the hearth, crooned softly her mother- 
nonsense. Eyes and smile were very tender as she 
looked down. The child would bind them, would 
draw cords of mutual affection and interest about them. 
The little upturned face upon her knee smiled in re- 
sponse. Suddenly the words were frozen on her lips, 
a spasm of fear contracted her heart and pinched her 
features. She turned the child’s face to the light and 
bent her own close over it, searching, examining, till 
at length her frightened gaze fastened upon the grey 
eyes looking in innocent wonder into her own. 

My God ! no, no ! ” was her breathless moan. 

O my God, no I ” 



CHAPTER XX 

“and did SHE) EOVE) HIM ? WHAT IT SHE) DID NOT? ” 

I T was noon on the following day. Cordelia tied her 
serge sun-bonnet over her head, and went out in 
search of her father, who was sketching somewhere 
near. The natural avenue of giant trees, into which 
she turned, was aromatic with odours of bush and 
earth. The great evergreens were deepening their 
tints to darker green, but wild vines still flowered 
round the lower stems. So closely did the branches 
lace and interlace overhead that only in patches the 
blue sky was visible, shining between ; and the sun- 
light, filtered between the leaf-curtain, cast a luminous 
green light that shone with the brilliance of a trans- 
formation scene, giving distinctness to every gnarled 
stem and twisted tree-trunk, and making the white- 
habited girl look almost ethereal in her beauty. 

Over the serenity of Cordelia’s face there passed a 
ripple of emotion, as, lifting her eyes, she saw Wynn 
advancing along the mossy path, with a quick, im- 
261 


262 


The Untold Half 


patient, soundless step. The clear eyes looked startled, 
her fair face flushed, then grew pale ; she hesitated 
momentarily, as though in doubt whether to proceed 
or turn, then, bracing to meet his overpowering men- 
tality, went forward; but as he eagerly approached she 
interposed a slight indefinable chill and reserve between 
his impetuosity, that checked the words upon his lips. 
They had walked this path so often, and memory had 
been busy with him. 

‘‘ Have you ever guessed what this path has meant 
to me ? he said, in a low tone — what perfect hours 
those have been — the most perfect in my life — in which 
I have enjoyed your friendship ? 

His eyes dwelt upon her with humblest worship. 
Her step had quickened as he spoke ; she looked, not 
at him, but along the avenue to where the luminous 
shadow opened to the blue and silver of the lake. He 
spoke like one whose deeper meaning was but half con- 
cealed ; but, although she listened, she tried to turn 
his thoughts. 

** Mr. Winter, she said quietly, ‘‘ my father has had 
news of his sketch of this avenue. It has been pur- 
chased at a price so far exceeding the value of his work 
that — forgive me ! — my suspicions are confirmed — you 
have in part, or wholly, repainted it.’^ 

Her compelling eyes were on him ; the hot blood 
rose to his face and forehead at her detection. He had 
hoped vainly to deceive her, and to deceive the old 


“ And Did She Love Him? 


263 


man, into the belief that his long-toiled-for hour had 
come, and that it was merely because of Wynn’s nego- 
tiations with the dealers a fair price had been received. 
It had been too hard for him to stand by and guess at 
privations he was not permitted to see, and watch the 
exquisite face sharpening in outline. For the first 
time Cordelia had dropped the “ thou” in her inter- 
course with him, and substituted the formal you.” 
It put him leagues away. 

‘'Was it kind ? ” she asked gently, but distinctly, 
and instead of her bright smile the corners of her mouth 
trembled. 

“Was it unkind ? ” he urged, look, gesture, tones, 
protesting. “ Miss Grey, Cordelia, was it unkind to 
give an old man the desire of his heart ? and at such 
small cost — a little touch here and there — nothing, I 
assure you ! May one not be permitted sometimes to 
give pleasure where pleasure has been bestowed ? Are 
you just — pardon me — are you consistent ? Your own 
ethics of life are at variance with this cold creed you 
present to me. And what, after all, have I conferred ? 
— a stroke or two of a firm hand where an old one 
trembled.” 

“ The touch of a master-hand ! ” 

She turned her face, and he peered anxiously under 
the sheltering hood. The shadow of last evening’s ex- 
pression was there, and his heart and hope upraised. 
He realised in every nerve that he had roughly touched 


264 


The Untold Half 


some delicate, sensitive fibre of this high-strung temper- 
ament; that twenty-four hours had locked some portion 
of her from his reach. Had she sensed that episode in 
his life which dishonoured his manhood, or had his 
passion for herself revealed itself and scared her ? In 
all their intercourse, intimate as it had been, no hint 
by word or look had escaped him — till the passionate 
hour of yesterday — that she was to him a very real and 
personal entity. His heart had been overfiowing all 
the morning ; he braced himself now for the contest. 

It would be base, treason, not to tell you that every 
fibre of my heart and brain is strained toward the ideal 
of your lifting. Am I venturesome to say so much ? 
but speak I must ! I am a leper whom you have 
healed : do not force deeper degradation upon me, and 
send me away conscious of healing but without an ex- 
pression of gratitude.’’ 

He did not notice that she clasped her hands to quiet 
their trembling, or that the fairness of her face had 
deepened to whiteness. She shook her head mutely ; 
but whether to deny her influence in his life or deny 
his speech he did not wait to consider, and with rapid, 
broken utterance went on. 

'‘You dawned upon me at a phase — crisis — of my 
life when its old order — threads — were broken. I was 
incapable just then of forming any definite plan of 
action, of any true conception ! Pride, arrogance, 
were reproached by your simple strength.” 


“ And Did She Love Him? 


265 


His voice steadied, he looked her straight in the eyes. 

You made it possible for me to face the most difficult 
task — duty — of my life.” 

She did not turn away her eyes, but let their light 
and softness shed themselves into his for a moment. 

Didst thou perform it ? ” she asked in her most 
musical tones ; and yet there was something in the 
gentle austerity of her manner that promised no pallia- 
tion, that hinted “ First be reconciled to thy brother^ tlmi 
leave thy gift upon the altar, ’ ’ There was no false senti- 
mentality here ; no acceptance of spurious word for 
deed; no flattered personal sense, that blinded her eyes 
to justice. Childlike as her spirit was, it was yet strong 
and inexorable. And as though before a judge, Wynn 
answered with force and directness : 

I was not permitted. Believe me, there lies the 
sting, my debt is unpaid.” 

'' The law of retribution will yet make demand,” she 
answered quietly, and a pang contracted Wynn’s heart. 
Was this hour a first instalment ? Was one woman 
denying him because of the other ? Hot passionate 
protest rose within him, the thwarted will was in re- 
volt. For an electric moment Marvel’s secret hung in 
the balance, he almost poured out the story that honour 
enforced him to keep ; the barbarian blood in his veins 
ran riot, he could have stormed the barred door of this 
maiden reserve. For what ? To make his wound re- 
volting to her senses, or to receive absolution ? Abso- 


266 


The Untold Half 


lution ! He wanted love — love even with some disdain 
if need must ; yet no — love that could satisfy its highest 
need in him. Was she blind ? Could she not see, or 
would she not ? 

Unknown to him she watched the signs of his con- 
flict, a shadow of which passed over her own face. It 
seemed as though with clairvoyant vision she sighted 
it, phase by phase, and detected his flght against self- 
surrender, for into his storm of rebelHon she dropped 
the hint of his highest. 

I do believe of thee that thy greatness will be in 
thy renunciation.’’ 

Renunciation ! ” he cried, stung and amazed, turn- 
ing to face her as she walked, compelling her to stop 
and answer him. The word burst from him as though 
its acceptation could And no lodgment in him. ‘ ‘ Death 
is in renunciation — possession is life. Y ou have trained 
yourself in that cold school of negation, until you deem 
your natural heritage of love, estate, power, an in- 
dulgence of selflshness. Cordelia, live” — his breath 
came fast, his eyes searched hers as he clasped 
her hands — live and bid me live. I love you — I 
love you, as men love women whose strength de- 
mands their strength, whose sweetness soothes the 
child in them and charms their impatience, and whose 
goodness inspires to their best manhood. That is how 
I love you, sweet ! I want you for my own. Ah, will 
you not come to me ? Come and rest, dear love, give 


And Did She Love Him ? ” 267 

me the right to stand between you and every adverse 
hour/’ 

Her eyes had been fastened by his, the torrent of his 
words held her in a spell. She released her hands 
gently, but firmly, although she seemed struggling 
hard for composure. 

“ I had not thought that thy wish was for my love,” 
she answered almost despairingly ; then added, with 
simple candour, ‘‘ until yesterday. But then I knew. 
For no man could put that look into a woman’s face 
who had not stood to him ” 

“ For saint ! ” he interrupted hoarsely. 

She wavered for a moment, then went falteringly 
on : For his ideal. What his heart saw of his heart’s 
need ! Thou didst not paint vie — thou art deceived. 
I am no saint. I am a mortal girl, with plain ways, 
who but catches a glimpse, and that dimly, of near and 
simple duties. The profundity and depth and in- 
tricacies of larger life than this I cannot enter. ’ ’ She 
waved her hand to the cottage in the woodland. ‘ ‘ My 
duty is here, my place beside the one who hath loved 
me all his life, and who hath none but me ! ” 

Her self-control increased as she proceeded. The 
firm, sweet lips closed with a decision that the man of 
resolution felt powerless to shake. A sick sense of 
failure, the pain of rejection, paled his cheeks, and 
across his vision came the pensive, beautiful eyes of 
Marvel when she had said to him, You are free.” 


268 


The Untold Half 


Free ? Was the asceticism of one woman avenging the 
shame of the other, or was she defending herself against 
indifference, by presenting consideration of her father 
as her most sacred obligation ? 

“ You do not answer me ! he urged. ‘‘ Say that 
you do not love me and I will plead no more. ^ ^ 

A flush overspread her cheeks, lighting the chaste 
beauty of her face to a womanish charm that made her 
resistance the harder. 

I have answered thee,” she replied, a tinge of 
haughtiness in the movement with which she raised 
her head and drew slightly apart. 

He pictured that proud head crowned with jewels to 
match her eyes, the stately grace of the queenly young 
figure emphasised by silk attire. There would be 
none to rival her, none ! he thought with a man’s ex- 
ultation and tenderness, and joy in the beauty and 
sweetness of the woman of his love. 

“ My spirit of peace ! ” he murmured brokenly. ‘‘ It 
is impossible to have known you as I have known you 
and leave you easily ! You have no idle words — for- 
give me, but are you sure ? Cordelia, are you suref ” 
He bent to search her face, and held out an appealing 
hand. Quite sure that you are right to bid me leave 
you ? If this is sacrifice — are you not denying an old 
man a playtime ? ” 

See ! ” she interrupted, pointing to a white-haired 
figure just then visible where they turned a bend in 


** And Did She Love Him ? 


269 


the avenue. The old artist stood, palette in hand, his 
enraptured gaze fixed upon the scene before him. The 
dignity of his attitude, the joy of his expression, gave 
pathetic and forcible illustration to the daughter’s 
words, He hath his world — what lacketh he ? ” 

They stood and watched him for a moment, then 
turned slowly to retrace their way, and the sounds of 
the autumn noon grew dirge-like to the man who had 
gained his world and lost his life’s soul. The leaves 
whispered of farewell, the triumphant music of waters 
mocked him. All that had seemed to him most vital 
was lifeless without this woman’s love. All that had 
seemed to him most important — fame, distinction, con- 
sideration, wealth — this girl, at whose feet he would 
proudly have laid his honours as tribute, with a pride 
greater than his own, refused their acceptance. He 
yearned to bestow lavishly, and none would receive at 
his hands. A little fear crept into his eyes, his head 
drooped, and the lines in his face deepened. His 
mouth felt hot and parched. His student days of 
poverty were with him again, he felt the old ache and 
repression, the aloneness. He was once more a cast- 
away. Neither the intellectual nor the material real- 
isation of the old dream of that old time could satisfy 
this new hunger. 

He lacketh nothing ” — Cordelia’s voice in its most 
maddening cadence beat on his brain — ‘ ‘ except the 
faculty, which isolation hath deadened, to live in that 


2 70 


The Untold Half 


life to which thou goest, and where he would be a 
figure of pity and scorn. No man noticeth him here ; 
he is like one of the branches of these stately trees, that 
have been flung down by storm. The one passionate 
desire of his life hath bred that faith in his achieve- 
ment which doth stand to him world of all worlds. 
He is as one who, passing through the valley of the 
shadow of death, seeth a light ever before him. Here, 
amid Nature’s simplicity, he is neither rebuked nor 
mocked. I may not desert him. I would not if I 
could ; I could not if I would. Doth that answer 
thee ? ” 

She turned to him in a glow of spiritual ecstasy, and 
seeing the drooping head, a quick, pitiful instinct 
prompted her. She put out her fragile white hand and 
laid it upon his arm. He drew it under his own, and 
they walked on a pace or two. It seemed to him that 
darkness had fallen upon the world. The pain in his 
face was so great that her curved mouth quivered. 

Took up,” she almost whispered. ‘‘ The day of 
thy triumph is no hour for thine unthankfulness. A 
man should not mourn when moments are so few be- 
tween the realisation of his success. ’ ’ 

“ Don’t mock me ! ” he said almost harshly, turning 
sharply round. This is the day of my defeat. I am 
not a boy — I know what I want. And I never yet 
submitted to defeat tamely — I never shall ! ’ ’ His tone 
and eyes softened, he laid a firm hand upon the hand 


‘‘ And Did She Love Him? 


271 


that trembled on his arm. A man has a right to his 
own dominion, and if your love, Cordelia, is in it, if 
you belong to me, I shall claim you, dear, in spite of 
to-day. You may send me from you, but you cannot 
kill my love. It is yours to reject, if you will, but I 
belong to you always — always needed you,^^ he went 
on passionately, not stopping to choose his words, 
“ else why did my whole being vibrate to the first 
tones of your voice when you bade me seek the light ? 
You banish me now,’’ he proceeded, his voice growing 
husky. In the recesses and reserves of your mind 
you have a doubt of me — deserved ! You have set 
me a lesson in humility — a hard lesson, but I will learn 
it. One leper in the ten returned ! ” 

Now thou art angry,” she answered gently, and 
her eyes looked like stars shining softly through a mist, 

I act from no caprice, neither do I coquet with 
thee. My thought hath never wandered along love’s 
path to meet thee ; thou hast surprised me by thy pro- 
testation and thy demand. I do but seek to help thee 
to the truth, to sight the heaven for thee, which, seen 
through the mist of thy spleen, doth look so dim.” 

He smiled. Her quaint phraseology pleased him. 
‘ ‘ Tell me what my heaven looks like from your point 
of view,” he said. 

She paused for a moment, and sighed, her eyes 
downcast. She had slipped her hand from his arm, 
and had lightly clasped both in front of her. Her look 


The Untold Half 


272 

of contemplation was so demurely sweet that he longed 
to fold her in his arms. 

' ‘ Nay, bht thy mood will not agree. The mountains 
have cast their glamour on thee, nature appeals to 
nature, and man’s simplicity responds. For the mo- 
ment love sufiiceth thee. But removed from the spell 
of these solitudes, this phase may pass ; thy world — 
the rightful world which thou hast won — wilt clamour 
for thee, and thy reason will rise above instinct ; then 
there must be no environments ! ” 

He started; was she using his own first words against 
him ? Her bosom heaved, but the eyes she lifted to his 
face were clear. 

“ If I do not love thee, ’ ’ she continued, a little sadly, 
“ I love the best that is in thee, and thou shalt not 
vow. Thou must go back to thy real life free as 
though thou hadst not uttered vows to me ! Thou art 
an heir to fame — thou art athirst for it. Drink and be 
satisfied, and thy name will shine ever brightly in 
my memory.” She smiled enchantingly, and held 
out both her hands for him to take. Thou wert 
a name to me before thou earnest ; thy name will 
live to me when thou art gone, Wynn Winter.” Her 
voice took a tone of command, as well as pleading. 
‘ ‘ A life rises to its crest once, then falls to heaven or 
hell ! ” 

She stood and watched him very quietly, as he went 
slowly away, his hands behind his back, his proud 


“ And Did She Love Him ? 


head low. Her eyes followed him till he reached the 
bend that led to the lake, then turning suddenl}^, and 
seeing her standing there, he uncovered his head ; she 
waved her hand to him, and moved slowly away. 

i8 




CHAPTER XXI 

BY THK COACH 

S EVEN years had passed over Manapouri since that 
rosy evening when Marvel had watched for the 
coach which brought the man who changed the current 
of her life and thought ; five summers had blossomed 
and faded since the closing of the phase of torture that 
had left indelible marks on her face and character. 
But nothing else had changed. This luminous evening 
might have been that of the past, so like was it ; and 
Marvel stood again on the cottage veranda, her gaze 
fixed on the roadway under the trees. But she looked 
as one who did not see ; there was no expectation in 
her face, and no impatience. Standing quite still, she 
towered in her majestic height like a true daughter of 
the mountains, alien no longer ; one with them, with 
hint of sear and storm. 

Her beauty had not faded, but changed. There was 
a softer, deeper, sterner expression in the dark eyes 

that had gazed on pain and seen defeat, and their ex- 
274 


By the Coach 


275 


pression sank deep into the memory. The curved red 
mouth drooped ; but no hint of fretfulness or impatience 
marred its beauty ; its tenderness matched the eyes. It 
might have been the face of a beautiful lost spirit — but 
lost in loving — one whom the narrow limits of person- 
ality could not chain. And there was all the pride of 
a proud race in her bearing — nameless descendant 
though she was — and the Celtic endurance that can 

suffer and be still.'’ 

“ Mummy ! ” called a boy’s treble from within. 

Mummy, I want you.” 

She started as though the voice recalled her from 
afar off ; and moving slowly, entered the room that 
had once been her own, but which now was part 
nursery, part playroom. A boy, dressed in a blue 
jersey and knickers, which, clinging to the slender, 
supple little body, showed every quick movement, was 
standing before a slate propped against the wall, a 
crayon held daintily between his tiny fingers. Fair 
waving hair fell uncut upon his shoulders, his features 
were refined, and his skin in its extreme delicacy, re- 
vealing blue veins at the temples, hinted at fragility. 

“ I want to paint you, Mummy ! ” said the child, 
with a hint of impatience in his voice ; and he turned 
a pair of grey eyes upon her with an intent and quizzical 
look. 

No, darling ! ” said Marvel. Moving swiftly, and 
crossing the room, she slipped to her knees, and threw 


276 


The Untold Half 


an arm round the boy. I wish you would n’t ! I 
very much wish you would n’t.” 

Her face was almost on a level with the small face 
turned to her own. She gently brushed the soft hair 
from his forehead with her hand. The child smiled 
to her eyes, gravely sweet. 

“Don’t you like to be painted ? ” he asked. 

“ No,” she whispered ; “ never do it, sweetheart, 
never ! ” 

“ Then I sha’n’t,” he said emphatically, and sighed 
in resignation — “ not if you don’t want me to; but 
I ’ll paint the lake, an’ the mountains, an’ the flowers, 
an’ the sky, an’ the wivers — an’ some day I ’ll paint 
all the world ! ” he added, throwing back his head 
with a gesture that made her shiver ; “ and,” as an 
afterthought, “ I might paint Farver Max — if you ’d 
like that ! ” 

lyike it ! Would it never end — never, never ? Was 
it to be suffered all over again ? Would Nature de- 
velop the boy after its laws alone — triumph over her 
again ? Could no superhuman effort displace this in- 
stinct ? As in a vision she saw the sunlit lake, and a 
boat coming through the light, and heard the tenor 
voice of the oarsman : 

mean to rule the earth. 

As he the sky ; 

We really know our worth, 

The sun and I.” 


By the Coach 


277 


She rose hastily, and crossed the room in an agitated 
manner, then returned to where the child stood watch- 
ing her half wonderingly. 

“ Paul,” she said, in a low, decided tone, com- 
mand you — do you understand ? — commayid you never 
to mention your painting to your Father Max. He — he 
hates it. I hate it. You displease and grieve me every 
time you do it, every time you think of it ! ” 

She would defy this subtle Nemesis, it should not be 
inevitable. The horror of the past should not rise to 
destroy the peace she had fought so hard to win for this 
home. 

The baby face paled, lips trembled, big tears sprang, 
the two little hands hanging helplessly. Mummy was 
angry. Mummy had never been angry before ! 

“ You shall not,” she repeated, almost frantically, 
” shall not ! ” looking down at the boy breathlessly and 
afraid. 

” Am I naughty ? ” he asked piteously, struggling 
hard with the tears. 

A passionate tide of self-reproach and love swept 
over her. She stooped, and drew the fair head to her 
knee. “ No, my Paul, you are not naughty, not you 
— not you, my dearie ! ’ ' 

The soft strains of a violin sounded from the kitchen, 
and seating herself on a low chair she drew the child to 
her, and resting her cheek on his soft hair, listened 
with dreamy eyes. The scene with the lad had shaken 


278 


The Untold Half 


her nerves, she was apprehensive and disquieted. Five 
years of peace that had deepened into content had 
passed undisturbed : why might not all the future be 
as now ? She was not altogether separated from happi- 
ness. She had emerged from her madness too sane for 
youth, perhaps ; yet, but for that knowledge in her 
heart of hearts, she would not wish to have anything 
changed, for Max had found consolation in his blind- 
ness. ‘‘Oh, must he ever know?'' she asked, and 
hungered to keep the knowledge that would crush 
him. In his blindness he had stumbled past cata- 
strophe. And in her heart was the half- formed thought 
that destiny, by putting out his sight, had worked him 
good. If only the child could be bent like the young 
twig to a form it did not grow. 

“ Paul," she murmured, “ I called you after the 
name of a strong man — a man who wanted very much 
to do his own way, and did not, because another way 
made people happier. He was a very thorough gentle- 
man ; and immediately he saw that he had been in the 
wrong when he believed he was right he did n't do that 
thing any more." 

“ What did he do ? " 

“ He first told people of his mistake, and then set 
about doing other things that he was told, and became 
a very great and distinguished man. ' ' 

“ Oh ! " 

This ambiguous history of Saul of Tarsus, afterwards 


By the Coach 


279 

Paul, seemed to impress his modern namesake. He 
went out thoughtfully, to consider it on the veranda, 
while his mother sat thinking. She had concluded at 
the time of Wynn’s departure that Cordelia had refused 
him. The abruptness of his going, the fact that he 
had not returned, and that the old artist and his 
daughter still lived in the same way, all tended to 
strengthen this belief. Once a package of newspapers 
had reached her, addressed in Tony’s handwriting, all 
containing criticisms of Wynn’s pictures, extolling his 
genius and the beauty of A Spirit of Storm^ and 
the woman’s heart had throbbed. All this should 
have been the heritage of her boy ; would have been 
had she not tried to put wrong right with ineffectual 
hands. In her eagerness to put out the fire of a past 
kindling she had set new fuel ablaze. This after- 
noon again the natural claim of Paul to the inherit- 
ance of his father’s genius was bruising her. On 
what a different path his feet might have trodden but 
for her ! 

“ Mummy! ” he called gleefully, come and see the 
coach. Here it comes. There ’s a gentleman on the 
box-seat. Come, Mummy, see 1 ’ ’ 

She walked out mechanically, her eyes partly blinded 
by the sun-rays, partly by her inward vision. Shading 
them with her hand she saw the prancing horses, the 
revolving wheels, the dark-skinned driver, and beside 
him — With a suppressed cry she took Paul by the 


28 o 


The Untold Half 


arm and thrust him behind her ; then, with rapid 
movements, pushed him into his room. 

Stay there,” she gasped. “ Stay there till I call 
you — and don’t speak.” 

She had not time to analyse her motive, her first in- 
stinct was to hide the child. It was a proud, self- 
possessed woman who met Wynn, with challenge in 
her eyes. He uncovered his head with gravest 
courtesy, and she saw with a queer little pang — so 
contradictory is a woman’s heart — that his beautiful 
hair was grey. His face, too, was thinner than of old, 
and as he turned it to her she noted that an increasing 
agitation made speech difficult. There was no passion 
in her answering gaze ; it seemed to him that wife and 
motherhood became her, while she realised with her 
old swift intuition that the careless boyhood that had 
lingered with him till long past boyhood’s years was 
now quite dead. She gave him no opportunity for 
private speech, but without shrinking, and in the most 
determined manner, ushered him into the presence of 
Max. The blind giant sat in the little kitchen by the 
open door, where the sweet air came in from the lake. 
His massive dark head and shoulders were silhouetted 
against the vivid purple background. A beard covered 
the lower portion of his face, and the hair of his head 
was thick and long. The eyes that had given the 
strong face its melancholy were covered by the droop- 
ing lids ; the old hard lines had smoothed in cheek and 


By the Coach 


281 


forehead. There were pathos and abandonment in his 
whole appearance and attitude ; the bowed head over 
the instrument, the strong delicate fingers — grown 
white in idleness — grasping the bow. He was ab- 
sorbed, his untrodden mountains making a setting at 
his back. 

Kwasind.” 

His bow was suspended. He lifted his chin from his 
instrument. 

My strong man Kwasind.’' 

The bow fell from the hand that was immediately 
grasped. 

‘^It is you!’’ 

“ Yes, it is I ! ” answered Wynn, and if ever Max 
had doubted this man’s liking for himself, the tone put 
doubt to derision. 

It might have been yesterday I ” the blind man 
murmured. 

Yesterday ? The wife that stood gazing at the two 
men, from one face to the other, wished that it had 
been yesterday they had met ; and yet she thrilled at 
their reconciliation, considering the intervening years. 
Deep in that fatalist sense of hers, all the time, lay the 
certainty of an all-avenging moment. But, before it 
came, let the two men believe in the love of the 
other. 

Yesterday ? Wynn glanced at Marvel curiously. 
Was she happy after all ? But for him she certainly 


282 


The Untold Half 


would have been ; in his darkest moments he had 
hoped that peace would come. She seemed to him 
wonderfully changed ; tint, and expression, and bear- 
ing had softened, mellowed and beautified ; and in the 
erectness of her carriage he read that she had outlived 
all that had been humiliating to her. He clung to 
what was visible. 

I am the bearer ot important news,” said Wynn, 
after the first emotion had passed and the two men 
were seated. Marvel stood at the back of her hus- 
band’s chair ; consciously or unconsciously, she had 
placed Max between herself and Wynn. Wynn looked 
at her as he spoke ; his glance was deprecating and 
steady, as though he offered the news as an apology for 
his presence. Both Max and Marvel waited. The 
blind man put out his hand and touched the violin on 
the table beside him, as one touches the hand of a tried 
and trusty friend in time of need or excitement. His 
sightless face seemed mutely to plead. 

I come from Tony ! ” 

Ah !” 

There was relief in the exclamation which both his 
listeners made in a breath — both faces lightened and 
smiled. 

^ ‘ I was commissioned by him to deliver to you cer- 
tain papers of value.” His manner grew hesitating, 
his voice slightly sad. ‘‘ Tony is dead — he has left the 
whole of his property to you, Mrs. Hawthorne.” 


By the Coach 


283 


Dead ! Tony dead ? Her eyes were filled with 
sudden tears. She did not appear to have heard the 
latter half of the communication. 

‘‘Yes,’’ said Wynn gravely, but speaking more 
quickly, a subdued eagerness in his manner. ‘ ‘ It was 
only six months ago that I fell in with him again. I 
happened to find myself near his place in Devon, and 
well — ‘ for auld lang syne, ’ looked him up. I found — 
him depressed and low — ‘ Diving is too much in the 
common wut to be intewesting, don’t you know, old 
chap ! ’ He was standing by a great carved fireplace, 
in a magnificent old dining-room, as he said it, and 
looked, as he spoke, into a log fire that burnt on the 
tiled hearth. ‘ I always burn wood ; it bwings Mana- 
pouwi to wemembwance ! ’ he added.” 

Wynn looked at Marvel meaningly, then at Max ; 
Max was listening intently. 

“Please go on,” said Marvel, her eyes still 
swimming. 

“ ‘ I ’ve lost my occupation, don’t you know ! ’ he 
informed me. I told him I was unaware to what he 
referred. ‘ Taking care of Mrs. Hawthorne’s father,’ 
he replied.” 

Both Marvel and Max listened now with strained 
attention. The name had been a dead name between 
them, and Wynn, who had evidently been put in pos- 
session of full facts, found a difficulty in proceeding. 

“ When Tony left here he overtook Mr. Meredith — 


284 


The Untold Half 


came across him in Dunedin. He told me that you 

once asked him to keep an eye on him ’’ 

“ Yes/^ said Marvel quietly. 

And he — well/^ proceeded Wynn, ‘‘ he continued 
doing so while Mr. Meredith lived ! 

‘‘ Frank Meredith is dead, then ? 

It was Max who spoke, and the question seemed to 
choke him. Marvel had paled, the hand on her hus- 
band’s chair trembled as she clutched it. Her eyes 
asked Wynn a question which he answered. 

‘ ‘ Tony had given him a home — made a sort of com- 
panion of him, in fact, and he bade me tell you, Mrs. 
Hawthorne, that your father had rewarded his trust. 
That was the word — rewarded. ’ ’ 

The dark brows of the blind man were drawn to- 
gether ominously, and Wynn hurried on, in answer to 
a sign from Marvel, who clearly wanted to hear 
more. 

I have implicit faith in Ton5^’s statement — it pleas- 
ured him so — he was not using the words as a conven- 
tion. It is a literal truth that between the two men 
there had been a tie which the lad evidently missed. 
Tony had a large protective instinct, and I was surprised 
to find how admirably he had fathered the whole of his 
tenants ; and it was, he assured me, because he knew 
positively that you would mother them, and Max carry 
out the instructions he has left, that he has bequeathed 
his fortune as he has done. He has appointed Max as 


By the Coach 


285 

steward — his instructions are very explicit — ;!^2ooo per 
annum is to be paid from the estate, in recognition of 
the service demanded, and to one of Max’s blood the 
appointment is to be offered for ever ! ’ ’ 

What meaning there was in the words ! Max was a 
proud man — and he was to earn his bread. 

He was deadly pale, his face was quivering pain- 
fully, and over him hung Marvel, whom Wynn could 
not quite analyse. Strong forces were at work, con- 
trolled by her will, but the woman in her had been ex- 
panding under her stress of feeling. She laid her hand 
on her husband’s shoulder. 

“ Dear,” she said, you will do your duty ! ” 
Exquisite ! thought Wynn. It would rend Max 
asunder to feel that he was dependent — it had been 
breaking his heart to face the long dark helplessness ! 
How had this girl come by that finer education, that 
look of strength and character ? There was a moment’ s 
silence, then Wynn proceeded. 

Tony was coming himself to tell you of your father, 
Mrs. Hawthorne, and to plead where I had failed.” 
His voice took a subtle delicate change. “ Max,” he 
said, for the first time addressing him personally, 
“ your usefulness would be restricted else — one of 
Tony’s instructions was that I bring a famous oculist 
to visit you ; he came by the coach ! ’ ’ 

Marvel’s face was bent over her husband’s head. 
Wynn could not see it, but he saw the man’s hand 


286 


The Untold Half 


reach for hers, and his imprisoned in it ; and his heart 
rose in confidence, his tone grew wondrously gentle as 
he went on. 

‘ ‘ But Tony did not come, as you know. He had no 
physical stamina, and a chill, caught while he was 

making his preparations, ended in pneumonia ’ ’ 

Was he alone ? ’’ 

It was Max who asked ; Marvel’s face was still 
hidden. 

I was there ! ” answered Wynn, rising, “ and after 
all — don’t be sad, Mrs. Hawthorne — after all, he ^a^/his 
desire — he attained his ideal — and there was no anti- 
climax — he lived and died out of the common rut ! ’ ’ 

Marvel lifted her head and looked at him as one 
stupefied. ^ ‘ Does the past poison even the thought of 
future prosperity for her?” asked Wynn of himself, 
perplexed ; or had she, as yet, only half realised the 
situation ? It had been the hope — next dearest to that 
of winning Cordelia — to see Marvel smile, that had 
lived with him all through his long journey. Once 
she had so passionately desired to see the world, and 
this action of Tony’s had lifted a load off his mind. 
Her intimacy with the lad had not been of the kind to 
bring, at news of his death, those shadows about her 
eyes, and draw the sweet mouth into lines of pain. He 
had looked forward, in imagination, for months to this 
hour, counted the hours, rehearsed the scene — how 
differently ! Her rigid silence told him that his news 


By the Coach 


287 


had fallen short. In a sort of desperation he tried to 
rouse her, and sketched for her the last scene of her 
dead friend. Max drew his breath as the graphic 
scene concluded : He lay in the great bed in the 

great bed-chamber, and looked like a child almost, 
among the pillows. ‘ Tell her,^ he said, ^ that my joy 
lies in the hope that she and her children will live in 
this old house. It was, and is, my dearest wish ! ^ ” 

He seemed to be pleading a cause with her over a 
gulf. Would this miserable separateness never be 
bridged ? He loitered, loth to go without one spon- 
taneous, free word. He was still wanting in the 
hardihood that could take his own joy and leave her 
out in the cold. 

When they were alone. Max drew Marvel into his 
arms. 

It ’s good news for you, dear ! he said gently, 
stroking her hair. * ‘ I ’d rather no man, except myself, 
had had a hand in your prosperity ; but none can ex- 
pect all things to his wish. I longed for you to wife — 
I Ve had my will, and when I ’ve seen the face of Paul 
there ’ll be little left to mend ! ” 

When the night had fallen. Marvel looked out where 
the light of the studio had been wont to shine. No, 
she had not been wholly unhappy since that old time ; 
something had vanished with the years, but love of 
husband and child had taken the place of that turbulent 
passion which had conquered her. But the bitter self- 


288 


The Untold Half 


torturing was at an end. She knew that the hour of 
revelation was at hand, that which had been hidden 
would be forced to the light. Her sin had waited the 
fulness of time for its birth of consequence. She had 
been resting over a slumbering volcano, standing on 
the verge of a precipice. She braced herself with an 
agony to endure, not resist. When she turned from 
the window she had decided that Wynn must be told. 




CHAPTER XXII 
THK one: in te:n 

C ORDEEIA walked westward in the light of the 
setting sun, which, breaking at intervals be- 
tween the giant boughs of the avenue, fell in crimson 
patches on the soft moss-carpet over which she passed, 
staining the white habit and hood to deep red, which 
faded to white again as she moved with easy and lan- 
guid grace along the path, her eyes now downcast, 
now raised to feast upon the rich colour. There was a 
sweet, deep calm upon her face ; her eyes were lit with 
that spirit light which radiates from some deep source 
apart from the cry and the noise of sense. She looked 
as one whose sweetness and strength, ripening in re- 
moteness, felt no need of audience — was suflScient unto 
itself. 

“ My Eady's Walk,’' her father had called the 
avenue, because of her fondness for it. She knew it in 
every aspect : when, in storm-battle, its branches 
clasped their arms ; when, in the autumn gloaming, 


290 


The Untold Half 


the wild wind fiends shrieked among its shadows ; in 
its garment of snow, when old landmarks were obliter- 
ated, and in its gala dress of gold and crimson and 
green. For this was her world, where she had lived ; 
where also she had dreamed, waited and grown tired, 
and refreshed again. She had learned from Nature’s 
wisdom how to let go and how to renew. 

lyifting her head with its old dignity, her eyes fell 
upon a figure that stood out distinctly against.- the 
dazzling patch of lake. It came on, grew larger, its 
outlines blurred in the deep shadows, to be thrown 
into convincing distinctness in the nearer light. The 
easy swinging walk, the poise of the head, put back 
time from the woman’s memory. She stood amazed. 

“ Dear Quakeress,” Wynn murmured, enthralled. 
Eyes and the heart of him were feasting on the vision 
of her loveliness and gladness. 

' ‘ Thou hast returned ? ’ ’ she said tremulously, hold- 
ing her two hands for him to take ; and as he bent over 
them reverently, with head uncovered, her eyes went 
to his whitening hair. “ And thou art tired ! ” she 
added. 

He stood upright at that, not loosening his clasp. 

Very tired. And you ? ” He searched her face for 
trace of unrest. Weariness cannot reach you where 
you dwell ! ” He dropped her hands and sighed. She 
turned to walk, and he beside her, his gaze lingering 
over the fair face and form, so dearly familiar to his 


The One in Ten 


291 


memory ; yet at the new sight of her revealed new 
beauty, the old charm cast fresh spell. Beholding her 
once more, he marvelled at nothing, except that he had 
left her. 

It was a mistake to go ! he blurted out hotly, 
resenting the cheating of the years. 

‘‘ But now thou art returned ! 

The musical accents fell gently into his resentment. 
It was as though to her all fulness and satisfaction lay 
there. 

‘‘ Thou didst ever misname things,’^ she proceeded, 
patting his arm to soften her chiding with assurance of 
sympathy, didst ever contend with restraint and 
kick against the pricks. Hast thou not learned with 
all thy knowledge that strong forces are in the silences 
— strong influences in the spaces ? And in the long 
watches of life — ah ! dearest friend, hath nothing 
reached thee that hath enriched thee ? Hast thou 
heard nothing when thou didst deem thyself alone ? ’ ^ 
She turned her eyes to his. 

‘‘ You,^’ he answered, I heard you ! 

She looked away. They went a pace or two, then 
he burst out again. 

‘ ‘ Five years have been lost to me ! ’ ^ 

Thou hast thine old heat,’' she responded, looking 
at him in questioning concern. 

‘ ‘ And thou thine own sweet witchery ! ” he answered 
brokenly, lifting her soft white hand to his arm. “ Tet 


292 


The Untold Half 


it rest there/’ he pleaded humbly. “ My heart is full 
at sight of you. I want to talk with you without re- 
serve ; yet words desecrate my meaning.” 

Then why speak ? ” 

Why does the melted snow pour into the gorges, 
and the full streams rush to the sea ? Let the sun that 
thawed the ice answer — as love mUvSt be responsible for 
my speech. Silence has meaning, waste places peace, 
but I swear by all the winds that lash to fury all the 
seas that I would rather suffer with you than enjoy the 
‘ peace be still ’ of loveless life ! ” His hand closed on 
her own. “ You must hear me, you must,” he added 
passionately, “ and then when I have spoken you shall 
silence me for ever — if you will ! ” 

His voice shook ; the arm beneath her hand tight- 
ened as though his will belied his words : that come 
what may he would hold her to him. 

The last time we walked here,” he proceeded, 
you bade me leave you, you denied me, humbled me. 
When I passed through yonder opening I felt as though 
I had passed through the everlasting gate — on the 
wrong side. It seemed to me that life immortal was a 
fable. The half-promise of bliss I would have bartered 
for one kiss of you. Then I reflected how little I had 
done, how little won — and add to that how little I had 
borne. What claim had I ? ” 

Didst thou think,” she answered with earnest 
eyes, and pressure upon his arm, that I did pit thy 


The One in Ten 


293 


performance against thy love, or weigh any pros and 
cons for thee, except my fear that, carried by thy swift 
desire, thou wouldst launch thyself upon an untried 
sea to thy disaster ? I had a fear for thee — that having 
lost thy compass, thou hadst mistaken an alien port 
for home.’’ 

Cordelia, if you knew ! How can I make you 
understand the waste of that dark deep which separated 
us? You cannot know. Here, in this calm haven, 
how should you know that thought of good wars with 
daily deed ? Sheltered, un temp ted, your pure thought 
but an uncontested bridge to your pure act ! ’ ’ 

“ A peaceful destiny,” she said quietly. 

He turned and looked hard at her. The sun had 
sunk in the grey twilight ; her face looked spirituelle^ 
spirit-like. Not to feel, not to do : was such a rdle 
possible to her ? The strenuous, sweet look of strength 
rebuked him. How could he know what battles she 
had fought, what victories won ? His clamouring and 
protest seemed vulgar. 

” Tell on,” she said, when the silence hurt. 

Tord God, I love you — what more is there to 
say ? ” he answered brokenly. 

Add,” she said, ‘‘ unto thy love its mate — I love 
thee too.. Nay, do not speak ; if it hadst been thy 
will to leave me, I yet had joy in mine own fidelity. 
Born in my mother’s house, truth sufficeth me. Dear 
heart,” she added caressingly, ” thou art a very child.” 


294 


The Untold Half 


She lifted her luminous soft eyes to meet his wonder- 
ing gaze. Didst thou think that thou hadst any 
coldness in me to warm, any rebellion to quell ? I am 
faithful. When thou didst leave me in this lonely 
valley, thou didst leave me yoked unto thee. Thou 
art above me — greater, wiser; yet thou canst not teach 
me love’s simplicity — that loving, it loveth for weal or 
woe ! ’ ’ 

He was white and trembling ; turned to speak, broke 
down, and gathered her into his arms. When his pulse 
was calmer, he drew the dear face to his shoulder. 

Why did I ever let you persuade me to leave you ? 
I will never leave you again — never. Did you think to 
tame me ? ’ ’ He put his hand that shook with contact 
with her under her chin, and turned her face to the 
fading light, so the better to read the meaning in her 
eyes. “ Could you not understand that my life was 
imprisoned here with you ? ’ ’ 

She lifted her head, and laid a caressing hand upon 
his neck. 

There could have been no undoing for thee. I 
could not have thee glide lightly into that which would 
have been irreparable. And if thou hadst deceived 
thyself” — she hid her face for a moment on his shoul- 
der, then proceeded softly j if I had given myself for 
an illusion ’ ’ 

Don’t,” he said brokenly. ‘‘ There was some 
doubt of me at the back of your mind ; there is still. 


The One in Ten 


295 


And I would to God,’' he added passionately, that 
I could tell you all. But this much I can say, I have 
never loved any woman but you ; never felt that any 
other would enrich and ennoble my life.” Cordelia 
felt his arm lifting, drawing her to him. ‘ ‘ My queen, ’ ’ 
he almost whispered, I would kneel to you, but that 
I have already knelt to a woman — in remorse. I am 
as far beneath your thought of me as this world is be- 
neath high heaven.” His trembling lips touched 
hers. 

She turned to him in the shadow ; he could not see 
her face, but he felt the touch of her hands. 

‘‘ Thou dost not know what are my thoughts of 
thee,” she answered gently. Thou art a stalwart 
man, but to-day I love thee best because of thine in- 
sufficiency unto thyself. Come now, tell me of thine 
honours.” 

That you may love me less ? ” 

That I may pride in thy manhood — which any wo- 
man would do who did not love thee ! I have a double 
share of joy, that I may pride and love both.’' 

They were walking on again ; he put out a quick 
hand and imprisoned hers. 

Which are you,” he cried passionately, spirit or 
woman ? ’ ’ 

‘‘ Indeed,” she answered, thou dost err to put the 
woman last. In my flesh are sinews which the soul 
lacketh. It enthralleth the spirit to aspire — what stress 


296 


The Untold Half 


and strain the flesh doth suffer to ascend ! I am that 
weakest and that strongest thing — a woman. And be- 
cause of that, I glory in thee, a man. Dearer to me 
than thy love for me is thy work’s excellence. A man 
may be nothing that his genius may be everything — 
that was my dream of thee ! ’ ’ 

“ Ah ! dear love,” he answered humbly, “ I am not 
worthy of this precious gift, your perfect comprehen- 
sion — and yet I have need of it. I did win,” he pro- 
ceeded. She could not see his face, but the tones of 
his voice were so humble, he might have said, “ I 
failed.” But what was that ? A trained and steady 
hand, a cultivated eye. And yet,” he proceeded, with 
vigour entering into expression and manner, “why 
should I pretend I am not glad? I a^n glad” — he 
raised his head — “ unfeignedly glad.” 

“ A man’s work liveth after him I ” murmured the 
soft voice at his side. 

“ Ah! how you understand! ” he responded eagerly. 
“ This personality may die a thousand ignominious 
deaths, fail utterly, but what is over, underneath, may 
excel. That finer instinct which perceives, which 
raises the ideal, unsullied by personal experience, is 
not this the mission of the artist ? Cordelia, I myself 
have smirched my own manhood, but my art ? God 
knows ! For my art’s sake I have suffered, hungered, 
sinned, to present it as near perfection as this clumsy 
hand of mine could execute. I love life — I have died 


The One in Ten 


297 


daily that my work may live. I hate sacrifice — I have 
yielded my will ; bound myself to a stake to save the 
soul of my art ! The slow fires have scorched me, 
scarred me, Cordelia.’' The last word was an inter- 
cession. His hand sought hers. 

“ Comfort thee,” she said. ‘‘ In thine own body 
thou must pay the debt of the deeds of the body — thy 
genius is pure.” 

The great avenue was lightening ; silver- white and 
deep black contrasted, and the man and woman were 
visible to each other again by the sheen of the risen 
moon. Silence had fallen between them ; common- 
places had no room in their full hearts. They went 
along hand in hand, absorbed in thought. Her sug- 
gestion startled him. In the absorption of his passion 
that indefinable sense of bondage to his past had 
escaped him. With his new joy all things had been 
born anew. With the consciousness of her love all 
fear had escaped him. In the triumph of his passion 
it had seemed that he had conquered all circumstances ; 
yet the words on the lips that had sealed his bliss 
sounded like prophecy. It jarred his fine sense that a 
shadow, the shadow of his sin, should fall between in 
the most perfect hour of his companionship with her. 
Could it touch her ? No, no — not that ! His nostrils 
dilated, his lips quivered. His sense of honesty re- 
belled ; his conscience suffered that there must be 
division between them — division of knowledge. If he 


2g8 


The Untold Half 


could only tell her ! It was intolerable to feel her near- 
ness, and shut her off from any thought of his. 

Where wert thou ? she asked, amazed at his ex- 
pression of aloofness. 

In hell ! he answered with an effort. 

May thy sojourn profit thee ! But come, thou 
hast not told me what the world hath done to thee that 
thou hast found it wearisome ? 

It wanted you ! 

‘ ‘ Five years of thine could not be years of barren- 
ness.^’ 

She spoke with dignity and authority ; how she lifted, 
how held him to his best ! He realised with a quick, 
passionate throb of exultation that to her he must be 
something to admire as well as love. 

^ ‘ I was at war with life ; do not reproach me with 
ingratitude. The heaven of my long toil and enter- 
prise was won as I conceived it — without you. Some- 
one has written that destiny has two ways of crushing — 
one way by denying, the other by granting our desires. 
Mine were granted, but I, myself, was alone.” 

Involuntarily he drew her closer to him, and the in- 
stinctive movement told more than his words ; his 
voice was stifled. She realised that he had not simply 
abstained, that his delay had been struggle. 

“ But there,” he concluded, that hint of weariness in 
his voice which she had marked, what more is there 
to say ? Have you not sufficiently tested yourself and 


The One in Ten 


299 


me, guarded me with all possible care against all pos- 
sible contingencies ? Ah, love, let there be no more 
restraints, no more denials. ’ ’ He turned her face again 
where the light of the moon fell full upon it. Her eyes 
met his with the answer that he craved : her struggle 
was over. 

Dear heart, I love thee,’^ she said softly. 

“ Swear to me ! he demanded, his passion chafing 
against the calm serenity and strength writ all over 
face and brow, and smiling on him from eyes and lips. 
“ Swear that nothing shall separate us again, nothing 
save death. 

Nay,’^ she answered, her sweet tones trembling on 
her candid lips, that I may not do ; but I may ever 
love thee. That I can vow with certainty.’’ 

He lifted one of the heavy plaits of her hair, and let 
it fall almost with a gesture of despair. Her thoughts 
were almost legible in her beaming look. The muscles 
of his face showed his torment. “ You may ever love 
me, yet perchance send me in heart-hunger and naked- 
ness back into the cauldron,” he said hoarsely. 

If holding thee were opposed to right ! ” she an- 
swered, with simple sincerity. Nevertheless, I have 
no such scruples. But there should be no dissimulation 
between thee and me. If love be opposed to truth it 
cannot live. That which shameth love killeth it.” 

Who taught you all this wisdom ? ” he asked as he 
held her from him. Suddenly his manner changed. 


300 


The Untold Half 


I need you,” he murmured. “ Dear one, I can wait 
no longer; even the weeks between now and the day 
when you belong to me absolutely will seem intermin- 
able. / shall be your diity then, sweet Quakeress. 
Example, tradition, will all be on my side ! ” He 
laughed softly. ‘ ‘ You can't leave me then, without be- 
ing wicked. You will struggle till your duty and love 
are one.” 

They walked on silently for a moment, then he said 
humbly: “ I knew that sometime, somewhere, I should 
find you, and that you would come to me. And one 
day we shall know each other so thoroughly that no- 
thing can pull you away, even for a moment. For 
this I can wait, I am willing. Meantime no word shall 
fall from my lips against any decree of yours, unless 
you push me again into the silence — alone.” 

His mind fell back to the years away from her, and 
into the pause her voice presently fell. 

‘ ‘ I cannot know thy struggle : it cannot be told, I 
feel sure ; but I want to assure thee that my heart has 
not one moment of doubt or fault-finding. I know 
thou hast done the best that as yet has been possible to 
thee, and that it is a brave, loyal best. But, dear 
friend, there is something untold. I do not ask what, 
and shall not ; but my heart cries out to thee to help 
thee, and to keep thee near me if that be possible, for 
indeed I need thee as thou dost need me — and my 
father a son.” 


The One in Ten 


301 


She turned and placed her hand in his, making her 
vow, her face radiant and tender. ‘ ‘ My husband, thy 
people shall be my people, thy joys and sorrows mine. 
I could not give thee the pillow of my heart for an im- 
pulse of thy youth, lest it pulsed the blood for weak 
pretence and put us both to blame. But in this love 
of thy manhood thou hast betrayed no holier trust — 
and I love thee, even as thou lovest me.’' 




CHAPTER XXIII 

IN A lyOOKING-GIyASS 

H eavy rain detained Wynn for several days, but 
with its abatement he recrossed the lake for 
news of Max : he and Cordelia were alike anxious. In 
the man’s state of mind foreboding could not live ; 
chaos had been reduced to order, and the promise of 
joy that he himself was realivsing must have existence 
in the sphere of his friends, to his optimistic reasoning 
at least. 

Vulnerable at this point still, he was accessible to the 
pain that touched the woman whose generous trust had 
enriched him, to her own impoverishment. At bottom 
it may have been self-love, offended dignity, or wounded 
pride ; it may have been that the unreasoning man in 
him was too large to rejoice absolutely, while the 
woman suffered whom his first words, first impulses, 
had linked to himself as wife. There was spontaneity 
in this part of him that had drifted out of his reach, 
which was not infidelity to Cordelia, but loyalty to 


302 


In a Looking-Glass 


303 


Marvel, and as he tussled with the breeze and the 
waves, he was compelled to admit that, whatever the 
reason, he could not act or feel as though Marvel had 
never been. 

He came to the landing-place near his old broken- 
down studio ; a tangle of undergrowth had climbed and 
concealed the walls ; vines and clematis were blossom- 
ing purple and white where the roof had been. A rush 
of passionate memories held him fast. Here he had 
chosen types, here fate had woven destinies. The force 
of life intertwining itself with very simple facts had 
created situations, developed character, led to an in- 
evitable dhiouement, upon which he now stood on the 
brink. 

He turned, and faced a small replica of himself, sur- 
veying him with eyes as serious as those with which he 
had surveyed the scene. A small hand courteously 
raised a red fez from a fair, curling head. Wynn re- 
turned the salute, the shadow of a smile lightening his 
gravity. The child’s grey eyes travelled slowly over 
the man’s blue serge-clothed limbs, then rested on the 
eyes so like his own. 

“ I like you ! ” he affirmed with decision. 

“ You are very kind,” responded Wynn, scrutinising 
the small upturned face keenly, and yet in an ab- 
stracted manner, as though while he talked he cogi- 
tated, as to what idea the boy linked him. ‘ ‘ And do 
you know, that is the heartiest welcome I have ever 


304 


The Untold Half 


received here/' Then he laid bare his thought. I 
seem to know you ; who are you ? ’ ' 

‘ ‘ Paul, ’ ' with an indescribable air, and uplifting of 
the head. 

Paul ? The name conveyed nothing. Yet, what did 
he remember of this child ? His voice, where and 
when had he heard it before ? Vague recollections, 
remembrances, as of dreams, flitted before his mental 
vision ; half-conceived ideas, passions that ‘ ‘ died be- 
fore they were born," still-born conceptions of another 
sphere. Had he himself lived before in another world ? 
Was he remembering ? His brows contracted with 
thought, and a feeling new, inexplicably sweet, pos- 
sessed him — sweeter than anything that had gone 
before. 

“ Paul ? What besides Paul ? " 

Paul, Marvel and Max." 

Wynn caught his breath ; every nerve in his body 
tingled ; the lake and the sunshine faded ; he and 
Marvel were up on the peaks together, alone amid the 
snow. His pulses throbbed like sledge-hammers ; he 
lifted his hat to let the cool air fan his forehead. The 
rumbling of avalanches died in his ears, he heard the 
swish of tiny waves, and saw the gold of the autumn 
day, and the little waiting figure, breast high among 
the bracken. 

Bareheaded, the man knelt. Again that sensation 
of knowledge swept over him. The earnest eyes meet- 


In a Looking-Glass 


305 


ing his own looked back at him with reminders of a 
dim past. It was not as though the face were newly 
seen, he knew the wistfulness of it, the repression, the 
baby yearning. His heart ached. Vicariously ? No, 
strangely, at some old suffering of his own. He strove 
for recollection ; all his force was concentrated upon 
the effort to recall. Then, with a catch of the breath, 
he stooped closer and brought his face to the level of 
the child’s. His heart thumped heavily ; all life seemed 
focused in that search to see himself in the wide watch- 
ing eyes, in the quivering face. 

‘ ‘ My God ! ” he breathed at last, as Marvel had 
cried. But there was no protest in his cry, no horror, 
only wonder and despair. His face whitened, all the 
old lines were deeply marked, he pushed his hair off 
his forehead, looked up at the great snow-peaks that 
had witnessed his triumph with a gesture almost of 
appeal, then drew the pliant little body to his breast, 
and rested his bowed head on the golden hair. 

He knew. Nature had laid his secret bare. In all 
his pain there was no unbelief, but fulness of corrobora- 
tion was to follow in the lad’s statement. 

^ ‘ an’ Mummy was sorry, an’ said I must never 

speak of it, never think of it. She hated it, and Farver 
Max hated it too. ’ ’ 

The plaintive voice broke upon Wynn’s thoughts at 
last. 

‘ ‘ Hated what ? ’ ’ asked he vaguely. 


306 


The Untold Half 


“You see,” answered Paul, with that sublime and 
simple egotism of childhood that believes the sympa- 
thetic stranger infinitely interested in its affairs, ''I'm 
not sure that I ought to tell you : I 'm never to speak 
of it to Farver Max, an’ never to do it, and oh, I want 
to do it ! ” 

The little hand that lay on Wynn’s breast trembled. 
Wynn laid his own upon it. The trouble that he saw 
in Paul’s face rebuked his own. 

" Do what, my son ? What is it that vexes you ? ” 

"Paint Mummy! An’ I must n’t” — he sighed 
deeply — " nor nothing ; nor ever. An’ I do want to.” 

The sweet lips shook. The blood rushed to Wynn’s 
brow ; he was alert again, alive. 

" Then I say you shall,'"'' he said quietly, his face 
rigid as ice. Who dared to tyrannise over his son, to 
crush out his heaven-sent gift with semi-barbarism ? 
With set mouth and glittering eyes he rose to his feet. 
And Marvel, who stood on the kitchen steps looking 
out mournfully over the sparkling scene, saw the father 
of her son approaching with his most autocratic bear- 
ing, leading the boy by the hand ; and Paul, with up- 
lifted face, was chatting confidingly. Her heart leapt 
as she beheld, her torpor vanished, quick emotions 
registered themselves upon her countenance, like 
shadow and shine passing over the surface water. The 
struggle between opposing forces sent the blood from 
her face; forcedit back in burning flame; extinguished 


In a Looking-Glass 307 

it again. The situation that she had faced so long sur- 
prised and startled her in the newness of its presentation. 
Here was an unrehearsed scene, her life’s difficulty 
facing her with menace. 

She fell back as Wynn came on ; the inflexibility of 
his expression roused her old primitive ferocity. To 
think and feel was to express with her. And when 
Wynn came to a halt in front of her, still holding the 
boy, and demanded more by tone and glance than the 
scarce-breathed words, Whose son is this ? ” with a 
dramatic gesture that fitted the sombre obstinacy which 
made curt her speech, she pointed to a mirror hanging 
on the wall. 

Ask the looking-glass ! ” she said. 

Feature by feature the man scanned his own face 
and the child’s; each little mark of likeness w^as visible 
to his attentive eyes. The implacable cold strength of 
his own countenance, the pitiless anger of his eyes 
startled and arrested him. His chest heaved, his shak- 
ing hands betrayed something of what he felt. The 
wonder of the boy’s expression recalled him. He 
stooped down and kissed the parted lips, kissed them 
again and again. 

‘‘ My Paul,” he whispered, go now, son. I will 
come to you soon.” 

What did he mean to do ? Marvel panted for as- 
vSurance ; instinct, nature, rose ; he could not, should 
not, rob her ? Was this the harsh fatality that should 


3o8 


The Untold Half 


befall ? No, no. Submission was transformed into 
hardness and strength. Her eyes were fastened on 
every move of the man, lest it led to her robbery. 

Wynn staggered to the chair by the table, and hid 
his face on his arms. Cheated,’^ she heard him 
say. 

Then, yes, this was a contingency she had not reck- 
oned with — a compromise for their child. She closed 
the doors, turned the locks, moving swiftly and deter- 
minedly, then came back and stood near him, as one 
who meant to fight. 

He looked up presently, with haggard face. Was 
this your revenge ? ” he asked hoarsely. 

The proud hauteur cf her bearing, the scornful 
glance of her dark eyes alone answered him, for other 
answer she did not give. He read it, and rose. 

I ask your pardon,’' he said in his throat. His 
white, drawn face pleaded for him. His suffering 
smote her. She had dwelt so long on the suffering 
that Max must bear, that possible pain to Wynn had 
escaped her. It was a tribute, and, woman-like, she 
was touched. 

I did not know, I did not even guess till that night 
after I left the studio — the night you showed me the 
pictures.” 

The scene rose vividly to both — the man pleading, 
the woman pardoning. The irony of it struck both. 
Their eyes met. 


In a Looking-Glass 309 

It was too late ! ” she whispered with something 
of fear. 

“ Too late to undo — yes ! ” he agreed, speaking, like 
her, in subdued tones, but with none of her acceptation 
in his voice or manner. “ Too late to undo the results 
of your rashness, but not to prevent the shadow falling 
on another life.’' 

He meant Cordelia, of course. That was the reason 
why he had given himself up to such a passion of grief. 
At the bottom that was the reason. No wish to keep 
faith with herself. She had put herself into voluntary 
exile. 

“You never filled my heart, you had no power to 
hold it,” he interrupted her thoughts sternly. “ You 
concluded that. And having so concluded, you would 
not take second best.” His e^^es held hers. “You 
threw your cards away before the game was played 
out,” he added, with brutal directness. “The child 
would have fixed my thought.” 

She gave a cry. Narrower and narrower seemed 
that self-chosen path of sacrifice. 

“ You have robbed me, and robbed my son,” pro- 
ceeded the accusing voice. “ I feel my childhood born 
in him afresh — imagination, genius, struggling for an 
outlet. My God ! ” — he took her arm in a grip of iron, 
his moving face so close that she felt his breath on her 
own — “ you dare not crush the divine spark that is in 
him ! Would you throttle a lark to stifle its song ? 


310 


The Untold Half 


Would you batter a flower to beat out its perfume ? I 
am not capable of self-abandonment, you think — you 
shall see. I will sacrifice all^’ — he paused, consid- 
ered ; looked down, then looked up again quietly — 
a//, everything but the innocent defenceless life. It 
must not be doomed to barrenness. ^ ’ 

Wynn let go his hold of her, and paced in agitation 
up and down. 

Perpetual search, and no goal ; hope, with never a 
realisation ; desire, and no consummation, the master- 
passion abating nothing of its demands because of in- 
cessant denial — this living death for my son ? No ! 
he declared. “ This hell thrust upon him for his 
father's sin ? Never ! " 

‘‘What will you do?" asked Marvel, facing him 
and stopping his walk. “You began by being too 
eager to do everything, and be everything, and con- 
quer everything. Don't be too eager over again." 

He looked at her dazedly, and passed his hand over 
his eyes. Marvel's words recalled Cordelia. It seemed 
so long ago since they had walked together in the 
avenue and she had assured him that the deeds of the 
body must be paid for in the body. This, then, was 
his punishment ? His fatherhood clamoured, and had 
no rights. The genius of his first-born must be the 
blood upon the portals ? He had longed to serve for 
his sin, and, with a man's inconsistency, rebelled at 
the chastening. 


In a Looking-Glass 31 1 

He went over to the fireplace, and fell into his 
favourite attitude — elbow upon the shelf. For a mo- 
ment he gazed into the fire, then turned his eyes upon 
Marvel. She had a new significance to him, new 
dignity, new interest. She was the mother of his 
child — the son who had inherited his genius. He felt 
that he had everything to learn concerning her, that 
she was a problem unsolved. That fatal resistmice of 
hers, was it that which had kept them apart ? Their 
two personalities had never harmonised : what was the 
cause of it ? What dignity and feeling she had dis- 
played all through, and the finale brought him back to 
his first surmise, that some part of her had ever held 
supreme freedom from himself. And yet she was the 
mother of the child that echoed his highest. And 
Cordelia was the woman of his love. She set him free. 
Marvel chained him ; but yet in ravishment at know- 
ledge of her motherhood he would have given Cordelia 
for the legitimacy of his son. Nature won the triumph 
for Marvel for which she had striven in vain ; won it 
with extreme simplicity, by bringing back the man to 
his first want, the perpetuation of his best. And this 
magnificent gift of life, this child that would satisfy his 
hunger for immortality, lost to him ! His honours, his 
name, that might have enriched his son, what were 
they in this hour ? He went through an intellectual 
defeat, that Marvel, watching, could not gauge. She 
had walked with a firm, calm step over his dearest 


312 


The Untold Half 


hope ; followed some light of her own, and led them all 
into confusion. 

He turned from her, hiding his face. *She made no 
attempt to comfort him, but gazed at him sombrely. 

She was surprised at the manner in which he took it. 
His deep breathing and trembling, clenched hands 
said more than his words. How was she to guess at 
the strength of fatherhood embedded in that proud 
heart, how reconcile that gay, cynical exterior, which 
had alternately fascinated and offended her, with this 
bowed man ? There had been times long past when 
she would have used any weapon to hold and humble 
him, and that in her hand she had unwittingly thrown 
away. 

“ Wynn,” she said, hesitated, and went on. Ask 
yourself well if what you now deplore was not in the 
old time a blessed liberty. Be honest, be just — posses- 
sion then seemed very like oppression. I knew it, and 

I set you free. That was the day of my sorrow ’ ^ 

And this of mine ! ” 

I was content for you to go free,” she proceeded, 
passion stirring the deadness of her voice, “ for the 
evil then seemed the evil of binding yon to inequality 
of conditions — of hampering you with relations not of 
your sort. I heard 3^ou tell Cordelia that you had 

made yourself environments ’ ’ 

Don’t,” he pleaded from the shelter of his arm. 
Ay,” she went on, unheeding, “ and with such a 


In a Looking-Glass 313 

look no girl could tamely bear ! And I was not tame 
— not then! Do you think it possible, loving you as I 
loved you then, Wynn Winter, that I could bear for 
you to feel that your wife was a privation, a load and a 
trouble, that my love was n’t worth a wish ? You 
longed for harmony and perfection, and all that was 
not to be found in me. You ’ve had your wish I ” 

She drew herself up with a new confidence as she 
approached again the feeling of that past day. 

And if I ’d wanted it, I have had my revenge. 
But I did n’t want it. It ’s a poor sort of love that 
turns spiteful in the end, and nothing of a woman who 
can take a hand in the dragging down of the man she 
once prided in. And I did pride in you, Wynn. I ’m 
not Cordelia, I can’t enter into your imagining, and 
when you wander from the way you want, set you 
right again, but I could remove an obstacle from your 
path, and I removed it I ” 

She touched him on the arm, and he looked up. Her 
eyes filled, her lips quivered. ‘ ^ I was the obstacle, ’ ’ 
she added ; ‘ ‘ the roots of my love had struck deep. 
It hurt.” 

It was her first reproach. If it struck, he did not 
make a sign. But she saw that he was listening. 

‘‘ There ’s no undoing it, ever. It ’s got to be 
borne. It ’s new to you now, but you ’ll get used to 
the sorrow of it. It was new to me once. ’ ’ 

The words told their own tale of silent suffering. 


314 


The Untold Half 


He was beginning to comprehend. And this is not 
the worst of it,’’ she added quietly, as though she had 
faced it from all points. There ’ll come a day of 
reckoning with the boy. But that ’s not yet ! ” 

What is to be the end of it ? ” he asked stupidly. 
There is Max to think of first.” 

He roused at that. 

Max ? ” he queried haughtily. 

She turned her eyes upon him resentfully. ^ ^ Max, ’ ’ 
she responded, and left more unsaid. 

Again forgive me,” he said, stung to the heart by 
his own forgetfulness. ^ ‘ Marvel, listen to me. When 
I came to you this afternoon it was with a heart full of 
gratitude for a great joy. Yes, Cordelia’s love.” He 
went over to her, and laid his hand upon her arm. 

You had set me free — you remember? But, girl, I 
never was free. Something at the back of my mind 
bound me ; or your evident unhappiness. I came to- 
day hoping to hear news that would restore you to 
peace. You know the rest. Now tell me. What of 
Max?” 

He stopped and tried to smile, imprisoning her 
hands. She gave him a quick look, and saw that 
there was no pretence. 

‘‘ The operation takes place to-morrow. His sight 
is sure.” 

Again they gazed into each other’s eyes ; neither 
flinched. 


In a Looking-Glass 


315 


Marvel, listen to me,’' he said, with sudden realis- 
ation and compunction, his clasp on her hands tight- 
ening, I must be here. My place is here beside 
you.” 

She shook her head. 

'' It is true,” he urged, true that I have seemed to 
desert you, not to care ” — he bent piteously to her, his 
voice faltered — ^ ‘ but to-day you are avenged. Sex has 
avenged you ; you are the mother of my son, and I have 
neither right of husband nor father to defend. Can 
you realise what it means to me to stand by and see 
another man invested with the power to will or with- 
hold his will concerning the child ? ’ ’ His voice grew 
husky, his eyes dim. I told you once,” he added, 

that I owed you half my world. You have it — my 
son.” 

‘‘ Indeed, Wynn,” she answered, so quietly that a 
lark singing outside was distinctly heard, this is not 
the hour to compare our loss or gain, or fight for the 
boy : all that must come after. This is Max’s hour. 
He sleeps now in peace. When his eyes are opened he 
will see more than the light of God’s day, he will see 
what you have seen. You fume at your wrongs,” she 
proceeded, in dull weariness ; it remains to be seen 
how he will regard his. No, don’t touch me — I ’m past 
comforting. I ’ve little hope, for the mind of a man as 
you ’ve interpreted it is hard, hard. Say what you 
will, it ’s hard ! ” 


3i6 


The UntolTHalf 


‘‘ Please don^t/^ he pleaded, and leaned again upon 
his hand, and thought. 

“ You don’t see a way out,” she said presently, 
without mercy ; “ neither do I. I see nothing but 
Max.” 

“ Max must bear it,” he answered. 

He sha’n’t be asked,” she retorted sharply, till 
he is able. I ’ll take care of that.” 

Marvel,” asked Wynn, after a long silence, ‘‘ will 
you permit me to be here with you to-morrow ? ” 

She answered with an emphatic No. I ’ve been 
alone all through,” she said ; then, remembering, 
added, but I don’t blame anybody for that, not any- 
body. I went my own way from the first, and I ’ll go 
through with it.” 

‘‘ Marvel, what shall you do ? ” he asked. 

‘ ‘ Do ? ’ ’ she queried, meeting the distress of his 
eyes, quietly. ” I do ? It is not for me to say — Max 
shall be my lawgiver. But if you ’d like to have Paul 
for a few days, take him to Cordelia ; he ’ll be all right 
there,” she added gently, compassion in her glance. 

He was the child’s father after all. Perhaps Max — 
She suddenly paled and swayed, and would have fallen 
but for Wynn’s arm. He looked at her anxiousl}^ ; at 
the fear in her eyes. 

“ My poor girl, I will not trick you ! ” he murmured 
gently. 

But that was not her fear. 



CHAPTER XXIV 


TWO CHILDHOODS — AND THL MAN BEJTWE^EJN 
HE real meaning of the situation was forced upon 



1 Wynn as he led Paul to meet Cordeha. The be- 
wildering sweetness of his new passion had beguiled 
him ; the boy’s incessant chatter on the lake, his evi- 
dent satisfaction in his new acquaintance, was an ex- 
perience so unlike anything the man could chronicle, 
that it had soothed and charmed him. Paul’s absorp- 
tion in himself, his extravagant glee at his outing, re- 
duced Wynn to smiling acquiescence. The child had 
the mastery till Cordelia came towards them under the 
trees, with swift movement of welcome. Her eyes and 
lips were smiling ; she glanced from the tiny figure 
moving with such confidence beside her lover, whose 
step was slow to accommodate the skipping steps, to 
Wynn’s face, and something in its expression seemed 
to arrest her, for her glance stayed a moment before it 
went back to the child. 

Paul stood with uncovered head in quick imitation 


317 


The Untold Half 


318 

of the man whom he admired, at no disadvantage, if 
beauty could compromise the position ; the fresh wind 
had blown roses to his cheeks ; his grey eyes were 
sparkling. 

I Ve come ! ’’ explained he, as no one hurried to 
speak. 

Why, so I see ! ’’ said Cordelia, in her most caress- 
ing tones, slipping to her knees, and drawing the boy 
to her, who was eying her attentively in childlike 
fashion, somewhat shyly. And thou art 

Wynn prevented the word upon her lips by a sound 
and movement that disturbed her. 

Wait — look well.’’ 

In the stress of feeling his tones were sharp ; his ex- 
pression was charged with more than common meaning; 
the knit brows, the quivering nostrils, had significance. 
She looked back at the child, then at Wynn again, be- 
wildered, but still smiling. 

‘‘This is Marvel’s son?” she half queried, half 
affirmed. 

“ Yes. But look at his face again, and then at 
mine.” 

She obeyed slowly. Her eyes dwelt upon the young 
face grown grave beneath her scrutiuy, then turned to 
the man in a long, steady gaze. Her pupils widened 
and contracted, the lids trembled and fell, there was a 
slight, barely perceptible straining and uplifting of the 
whole figure, and when she looked again Wynn knew 


Two Childhoods 


319 


that she understood ; that in those keen palpitating 
moments he had stood at the bar of the pure soul, hurt 
its maidenly reserve, shaken its faith, and pleaded for 
absolution. Her head dropped over the boy, her hood 
hiding her face. 

“Thou art welcome, Paul,’' she said tremulously, 
but distinctly, caressing his golden hair. “ I have 
often heard of thee, but I have not seen thee since thou 
wert a baby. I am thy mother’s friend ! ” 

She had struck the keynote in that word ; gave 
earnest reality to that sweet womanhood which of all 
her chains most held the man. But he knew enough 
of her, however, to realise that she had placed the wo- 
man as a bar between them. If she was jealous of 
the past, it was no mean jealousy. He could not say a 
single syllable; the absence of the vulgarity of wounded 
vanity in her, of any display of exaggerated feeling, so 
touched him that he could have knelt to her. As they 
walked the child was between them, and holding to 
her seemed to divide her from Wynn. With that 
quick insight and sympathy which instantly knew his 
pang, she said to Paul softly, “ Give — him — your other 
hand.” 

With a grip that made the child wince Wynn’s 
fingers closed on the soft hand. He threw Cordelia a 
glance of adoration which she did not or would not see. 

“ I have a gentle playfellow for thee at home,” she 
said to the boy — “ an old, old man, my father, with 


320 


The Untold Half 


hair beautiful as thine, but white like the snow upon 
the mountains ; thou and he will be two boys together. 
What news of Max ? ” she asked abruptly, turning to 
Wynn. 

And talking over Paul’s head he told her. 

‘‘ Now, that is good news to hear ! ” she answered. 

Good news for Marvel and Max, and for the friends 
who love them ! ” 

She did not realise, Wynn saw. She was turning 
resolutely to some bright picture of her own conjuring. 

“ Marvel asks you to keep the lad here with us” — 
he hesitated — “until such time as Max — Cordelia ” 

His voice was an appeal. But she misunderstood 
it. 

“ Most willingly ! ” she answered. 

What disillusionment was she suffering ? Her quiet 
was not lethargy of feeling. Here in her mountain 
home she had cherished an ideal of life, exempt from 
fierce conflict of passion. How would she read this 
drama that was unfolding before her ? His hope lay 
in that broad spiritual sense of hers, which got beneath 
vulgar fact and enlightened her mind with understand- 
ing. He had the story yet to tell, to show the possible 
consequences. 

When they reached the cottage, the quaint, pic- 
turesque room was pleasant with firelight, a meal 
spread in waiting for the guest. Beside the fire, as 
though sensitive to the chill of the autumn air, the old 


Two Childhoods 


321 


artist sat with hands spread to the blaze. He rose as 
the little party entered the room ; the words of wel- 
come that were on his lips for Wynn changed to ex- 
clamation at sight of Paul. 

A child ? Or do these dim eyes play tricks with 
me?’’ 

He stretched out his hand, and the lad in wonder at 
the white beard and hair stopped short in his prancing, 
and gazed into the face of the old man. 

Thou see’ St Marvel’s son,” answered Cordelia 
cheerfully, taking the child forward, who, remembering 
his manners, doffed his cap and named himself. 

Sir, I am Paul ! ” 

A fine boy, too, who has robbed the sunbeams for 
his hair. Father and mother both are proud of you, 
I ’ll warrant ! Come closer while I look at you. My 
eyes have not your keenness. Who do they say you 
are most like — father or mother ? ’ ’ 

The firelight shone upon the two heads — one silver, 
one gold. Cordelia placed herself between the light 
and the child. 

Give him your blessing ! ” she said gently, and 
turned his thoughts. The old man laid his wrinkled 
hands upon the glistening curls. 

Eternal youth be thy portion ! ” he said, wavered, 
sat down, and drew the boy to his knee. ‘ ‘ I know what 
I say,” he muttered, drawing him closer 5^et ; age 
is feebleness; hope cheats, cheats; the best of love hath 


322 


The Untold Half 


its disloyalties.’* He had fallen into his habit of self- 
commune ; but Wynn and Cordelia heard. Wynn 
choked ; the scene was taxing him beyond endurance. 
Cordelia, moving to perform her simple preparations, 
seemed to see nothing, to hear nothing ; but the air 
was electrified to both woman and man. As Wynn 
stood looking through the window he heard every soft 
movement, felt her as she passed him, till feeling was 
pain. He saw nothing of what he looked upon, but 
the vision of her as he had conjured it, of that other 
luxurious home to which he could not go alone. 

‘‘ A bonnie boy,” broke in the old man’s voice upon 
his thoughts. Cordelia, when you are mother to 
such a lad you will be a proud madam ! ” he chuckled, 
well pleased at the idea, ‘ ' and your father and husband 
will seek you often, vainly.” 

Over the still face a wave of colour passed and faded. 
The hands arranging the teacups trembled, but what- 
ever anguish the woman-heart felt at the knowledge 
that she would not be the mother of her lover’s first- 
born, that child of hers would not be the first to call 
the look into his face she had seen there this afternoon, 
she gave no further sign. 

” When Farver Max can see,” the child’s treble in- 
formed them, ^ ‘ he will take me to the mountains, high 
up, up, up ! ” His voice rose as he ascended in 
imagination. There are things to see there, an’ the 
snow comes down^ an’ down, an’ down. An’ Farver 


Two Childhoods 


323 


Max ses the wind blows like music there, an’ the sky ’s 
more bluer than the picture skies. An’ I shall see it, 
he ’s promised me. But Mummy ses it ’s better never 
to come down no more, when once you climb.” 

Wynn thought he should break loose, or go mad. 

Ay, ay! ” responded the quavering voice, that ’s 
true, that ’s true ! ” 

“ An’ then Farver Max ses,” continued Paul, strok- 
ing the silky beard of his interested auditor, that him 
an’ me an’ Mummy are going a long way off to see the 
world. It ’s such a big place an’ such a crowd of peo- 
ple, an’ Mummy does n’t never want to come back no 
more ! ” 

“ Thou hast an active tongue ! ” interjected Cor- 
delia ; ” come and engage it with these cakes.” She 
lit the lamp as she spoke. 

After the first mouthful, Paul turned to his host with 
a courteous movement so like Wynn’s that Cordelia 
was fascinated. 

‘ ^ Sir, did you make the pictures on the walls ? ’ ’ 

The old artist bowed. 

Paul looked around. “ Were you a boy once ? ” he 
asked interestedly. 

” I was.” 

“ And did your farver and mummy wish you 
would n’t do it ? ” 

“They did.” 

Paul sighed. 


324 


The Untold Half 


** Come, now, thou art not eating thy cake,’’ re- 
minded Cordelia. 

When the meal was finished, the old man drew the 
boy to his knee again, and Cordelia, having cleared 
the table, sat down near the lamp to sew. Wynn 
seated himself opposite, glanced at the two children at 
the fire, absorbed in each other, then fixed his eyes 
upon the face that baffled him. 

‘ ‘ Cordelia ! ” he pleaded. Her needle clicked against 
her thimble once, twice, chen she looked up. 

He flushed, stammered, tried to recall what he wanted 
to say, then was diverted by her father’s voice. 

“ We stand for the two eternities — the past and future 
— two childhoods, two childhoods ! But there is a man 
between ’ ’ 

Wynn caught at the suggestion. ‘‘ Chained, unless 
a woman sets him free ! ” 

She looked at him, and he at her. 

There is an honour due to a man’s wife which 
many a man hath brought who brought love too, ’ ’ she 
said. Her fair hands stitched industriously, her eyes 
were bent upon her work. 

He stretched his hand and laid it on hers. '‘No, 
let it be,” he said, “ and look at me. If there be 
memory in the grave, if thoughts recur in eternity, this 
hour will punish me sufflciently.” 

“ An’ when a man grows, can he do everythink — 
every think he wants ? ” asked Paul. 


Two Childhoods 


325 


Cordelia and Wynn listened for the answer. 

“ Alas ! alas ! doing is failure ! Forgetting is 
peace ! ” 

“ Darling, do you hear ? breathed Wynn. 

Cordelia let her hands lie on her needlework and 
looked him full in the eyes. ‘ ‘ Forgetting is cowardice, ’ ’ 
she said. Hast thou nothing to tell me ? 

He withdrew his gaze. My tale,’’ he answered, 
your purity must hurt. It is a base return for your 
sweet trust.” 

And may not one woman hear what another 
sufifereth ? ” 

Cordelia, I have sinned ; but not as you surmise. 

I did not desert the woman ; she ” 

‘ ‘ Deserted thee ? ’ ’ queried Cordelia, surprised. 

‘‘ No, no. Not that either ! She relinquished — be- 
cause she thought we loved each other ! ” 

Her needle clicked sharply against the thimble. 
The sweet seriousness of her face was disturbed. 

‘‘ Tell on,” she said. He opened a book and read : 

“ There was a poet, madam, once (said he). 

Who, while he walked at sundown in a lane, 

Took to his heart the hope that destiny 
Had singled him this guerdon to obtain. 

That by the power of his sweet minstrelsy 

Some hearts for truth and goodness he should gain. 
And charm some grovellers to uplift their eyes. 

And suddenly wax conscious of the skies.*’ 

‘ ‘ He did well ! ’ ’ she answered him. 


326 


The Untold Half 


Yes, he did well,'' assented Wynn ; '' better than 
I, for my consideration was not whom I might uplift. 
My heart was cold to the mission of art. I loved art, 
I did not love the woman, but I coveted her beauty for 
my art's sake." 

Her needle flew in and out of the cambric swiftly ; 
her mouth set sternly ; he watched her breathlessly. 

There was a stir from the fireplace. The old artist 
had risen with the sleeping boy in his arms. He laid 
him upon the couch, covered him lightly with a rug, 
then stood gazing at the picture-face framed in its con- 
fusion of gold. His lips moved as he talked to him- 
self ; presently he bent down and kissed the fair 
forehead, went to the door, and opening it, stood for a 
moment looking out into the moonlight ; then reaching 
for his hat, turned to observe Cordelia and Wynn, and 
stepped out, closing the door softly behind him. 

Wynn crossed to the couch, and standing with arms 
folded, and eyes fixed on the sleeping face, told all 
there was to tell without exaggeration or extenuation, 
as though the sight of his son nerved him. He made 
no appeal to Cordelia, not by a glance, was not aware 
of the impression made as stroke by stroke the picture 
grew. There was no effort or noise, no struggle. 
When all was said, he turned to find Cordelia standing 
beside him, with clasped hands, her eyes devouring 
him. 

Ah ! " she breathed, “ how I have seemed to rob 


Two Childhoods 327 

her ! Canst thou not see that I have been the cause 
of this ? '' 

‘‘You?’’ 

“ How blind I was ! How blind thou wert to flaunt 
our preference in Marvel’s face” — a flush dyed her 
cheeks — “ in thy wife's face. Wynn Winter, thou hast 
shamed me in mine own eyes, and in the eyes of the 
mother of thy son. Why didst thou not give to her 
her rightful place — the wife that was to be ! — that no 
other maiden might seem to coquet with thee ? ” 

He was surprised. Her anger was all for the other 
woman’s sake, the shame for her own. 

The smooth soft sentences took force. Her proud 
head was carried haughtily. 

“ Thou art a very man, and wilt storm all forts, 
thinking that power justifieth thee ; but it is a mean 
thing to make ‘ targets of souls. ’ ’ ’ 

“ I did not realise — I only loved you ! ” 

“ There is a greater thing than a man’s love — there 
is a woman’s,” she proceeded quietly. ‘‘ There is 
Marvel’s. It was great in its renunciation. It is not 
for me to condemn its sin. Some sins seem purer than 
other virtues — and lift higher. Fate hath dealt merci- 
fully by thee, the man, that thou couldst not drag her 
down. The strength that could carry such a load in 
silence is stronger than my virtuous years. Didst thou 
tell her so ? ” 


“ Cordelia ! ” 


328 


The Untold Half 


‘‘ Nay, then, but it is left for me to say — that is the 
part for woman, to lift up the woman that the man cast 
down. One cannot both destroy and build. None but 
a woman’s confidence and love can restore a woman to 
her peace. The best of man doth never enter the secret 
chamber where a woman’s finest feelings are. We 
keep them for a woman’s handling — and for these!'' 
She made a telling gesture towards the sleeping child, 
and kneeling, touched his hair. 

“ Cordelia,” murmured Wynn, feeling like one who 
had closed the gate of Paradise upon himself, “ who 
taught you all this ? You speak like a woman who has 
trodden life’s wine-press with aching feet.” 

‘‘ I know not how I know, but I know.” 

He stood looking down upon her with working face. 

‘‘You will never forgive me,” he afl&rmed hoarsely. 

“ Now there thou art wrong,” she said softly. “ I 
have no cause against thee. I did love thee as thou 
wert — my heart selected thee with thy wrong-headed- 
ness ; I love thee better as thou art now, baffled and 
beaten, with the grace of thy humility; but I shall love 
thee best as thou wilt yet be. ’ ’ She turned her head 
and lifted her eyes swimming in tears. 

He gave an inarticulate cry, and made to fold her in 
his arms. But she held out a protesting hand, and rose. 

“ Marvel’s cause is mine. Thou art bound to her 
still. If Max doth turn his face from her, thy duty is 
clear.” 


Two Childhoods 


329 


** You mean — ” His breath came heavily, he held 
out a pleading hand. 

“ I mean Marvel — and thy son. The position has 
passed from thy hands, and from mine also, ’ ’ she said 
quietly. 

“ A moment ago you linked our lives! ” he reminded 
her passionately. 

And they are linked,” she answered, wincing at 
the misery in his face, mine unto thee for evermore. 
Dear heart, I love thee ! Thy failures are my failures, 
and thy triumphs mine. But the woman renounced 
for thee, and if she will I will renounce for the woman. 
Thou must not murmur, thou art in the threshing- 
machine. And in thine heart of hearts thou art long- 
ing to do justly.” 




CHAPTER XXV 

FROM DARK TO DAWN 

M ARVEE sat alone in the kitchen. To-morrow 
the bandages were to be removed from Max’s 
eyes. She was thinking intently, her eyes fixed upon 
the blazing logs, the light of which shone on her face 
and picked out every splendid curve of figure. Her 
scarlet bodice threw the round white throat into relief, 
and emphasised the vivid colouring of her face, and 
Cordelia, whose knock had been unanswered, and who 
entered unobserved, stood for a moment in silent ad- 
miration, before — feeling the rush of cold air that came 
through the open door — Marvel turned. In that mo- 
ment’s scrutiny of the woman, so still in her grief and 
anxiety, Cordelia realised the strength that could 
stand alone in its hour of direst need. She and this 
mobile, susceptible creature had little in common, ex- 
cept their love for the same man, and as Marvel rose, 
this thought was visible in her face ; also the stately 
grace of Cordelia hurt her anew, as it had ever cut her 


330 


From Dark to Dawn 


331 


off in some mysterious way from indemnifying herself 
with Wynn’s world. But the restraint was on her 
part alone. Cordelia closed the door, and with shining 
eyes and outstretched hands came on. 

‘‘Pardon this intrusion,” pleaded she; ‘^thou art 
not pleased to see me ? ’ ’ 

“Not particularly ! ” 

The two women eyed each other. Marvel flushed ; 
Cordelia’s face was white, her fragility struck the 
other ; they so seldom met that it was the more notice- 
able. But if she suffered, the compelling spell of her 
individual charm had not lessened. 

‘ ‘ I come a suppliant ; do not cut me off from thee in 
this hour. Sister, I have wronged thee unknowingly. ’ ’ 
A faint tinge of colour suffused the fair cheeks ; she 
clasped her hands ; the intentness of her look spoke of 
her earnestness. Marvel watched her with puzzled 
admiration. Cordelia was contending with something 
in her mind outside Marvel’s wrestling. 

“ When I took Wynn from thee — I did not know,” 
she faltered. The sweetness and purity of the 
woman before her all at once struck Marvel with new 
force. For the first time she felt shame. Horror, re- 
gret, misery, had been hers in full ; but how deficient 
she must seem in Cordelia’s eyes ! The defiant attitude 
that she always unconsciously assumed in her rival’s 
presence, and which Cordelia now thought she under- 
stood, wavered and drooped. Her eyes fell. 


332 


The Untold Half 


I did not know/^ repeated Cordelia. 

Marvel turned aside to draw a chair to the hearth. 

I wondered sometimes if he had told you about me 
before he went, and whether that was the reason you 
sent him away ? ’’ 

“No, thou didst desire silence. “ 

Both women were fighting against reserve, conscious 
that they were not responsive to each other ; but Cor- 
delia could not bring herself to speak of those passages 
between herself and Wynn which she had approached 
with the passion of her spirituality. That deep current 
of feeling that had flown to her was hers alone. What- 
ever had passed between the man and this girl, she 
realised that what was poignantly real had been given 
to herself ; that the deepening and expanding of his 
nature belonged not to Marvel ; but that Marvel was 
conscious of the fact, that it had in great measure in- 
fluenced her action, surprised her. 

‘ ‘ It seemed better for ever37body then. There was 
no reason, as I supposed, to bind a man like Wynn 
Winter to his weakest. It would have chafed him and 
me — if it could have been done. And I meant no dis- 
honesty to Max.’^ 

She made these explanations in a nervous, flurried 
way, and left Cordelia to fill in the gaps. 

“ In the beginning of Max’s illness,” she went on, 
stooping to mend the fire, and so evading the searching 
eyes, ' ‘ it was uncertain what the issue would be, and, 


From Dark to Dawn 


333 


until the night Wynn showed us his pictures, I had n’t 
guessed. Then he went away before I could see him 
again. And Max bore his blindness so sweetly because 
of me, that I could disturb his peace. It would have 
been easier for me if I could — ” A sort of defiance 
entered her tone, as though throwing off* any imputa- 
tion that deceit had taken part in her reticence. “ It 
was n’t that I was too weak to face the consequences — 
for I always knew they ’d got to be faced some time. 
Oh, to give up the burden once and for all ! You don’t 
know — how can you know the nightmare of the untold 
half of these years ! ” Her voice broke, but she mas- 
tered it. “ To live with a day of reckoning haunting 
you is n’t joy. But the day for honesty had n’t ar- 
rived. It will be to-morrow.” She shuddered a little, 
stiir busying herself with the log. 

''Thou art right,” responded Cordelia earnestly. 
" I did not know thy suffering, but I can realise its jar- 
ring. All my own peace and comfort hath seemed to 
place me selfishly apart from thee ; but in the day of 
my knowledge, how can I live, how dare I live, till I 
have endeavoured to lift with thee ? ” 

" Nobody was to blame for anything I did — except 
my father,” Marvel added reluctantly, turning from 
the fire. " I ’ve come of a race who pull their temples 
about their ears in their heat, and try to rebuild at 
leisure. It was n’t anything you did or did not do,” 
she added with a faint intonation of pride. " If it had 


334 


The Untold Half 


been a fair fight, girl against girl, I should n*t have 
considered you ; but it did n’t seem honest when I 
knew I had neither name nor respectability. Wynn 
is n’t the man to mate with a convict’s granddaughter. 
I ’d been brought up to fancy myself a lady — I felt one 
somehow. As soon as I understood, I drew back.” 

” The dishonesty was not thine,” answered Cordelia. 

” Neither was it Wynn’s,” responded Marvel, de- 
fence in her manner as she faced round. He never 
deceived me or tricked me; I deceived and tricked my- 
self. So if that has been keeping you apart, don’t 
let it.” 

Cordelia looked at Marvel wistfully, reluctant to 
take her word too readily. She had not accepted the 
proffered chair, and both still stood. By an accident 
of inheritance both women had the courage of en- 
durance in their veins, although the swift passion that 
first destroyed before it endured had not entered Cor- 
delia’s blood. But she could scourge herself and 
others, if need be, and Marvel realised this as she read 
the resolution under the sweet wistfulness. 

' ' The wrong dates to that which my father did my 
mother,” she said. 

Cordelia took Marvel’s hand. It is of thee I came 
to speak, not of any other. This is the hour of thy 
need. I am here to serve thee. Because thou art 
willing to gather to thyself all the consequences, I am 
not willing to play an unjust part. Until I know that 


From Dark to Dawn 


335 


thou wilt not need — she pressed the hand she held, 
paused for an instant, then proceeded — succour, I 
will not be set aside. The debt is not all thine, thou 
canst but own.^’ 

She was white, although she spoke so quietly. 
This, then, was the meaning of the sharpened face ? 

^ Marvel bent towards her, and asked a little breath- 
lessly, '' Would Wynn desert you for Paul ? '' 

Cordelia met the look bent upon her — she had seen 
it in Marvel’s face before — the eagerness to triumph 
over her. She felt sick and humiliated ; she withdrew 
her hand with a perceptible stiffening of manner. 
Pride touched the nobleness of her face, and checked 
its surrender. 

There is no question of desertion,” she replied ; 
“ the question is justice.” But she had betrayed her- 
self. She was trying to persuade herself and Wynn 
into restitution. 

Many feelings fought for mastery in Marvel, but 
honesty rushed to her rescue. 

” And do you think justice would fill your life and 
his ? even if it could be done ! ’ ’ she burst out. ‘ ‘ I 
made that impossible to the child — and for the rest, 
only Max can mend it.” Her voice had a sound of 
bitterness as she proceeded. Am I the sort of woman 
to be satisfied with half-measures, do you think ? 
Should I have done what I did, if I could be content to 
chain the man to me while any other woman had his 


336 


The Untold Half 


soul?’’ She laughed harshly. We shall never 
quarrel about Wynn Winter, Cordelia ; his path and 
mine lie apart this side the grave. I have n’t learnt so 
little in all this as to be weak enough to want aveng- 
ing, I ’ll work out my own salvation, or it never will 
be worked. The question that ’s burning in both our 
hearts, Cordelia Grey, may be the same question, but 
apart from Wynn Winter.” 

She drew back, pushed back her hair, and in her 
eyes was an expression so like that of the picture that 
Cordelia was electrified, startled from her calm. She 
was standing, and put out her hand with a quick 
gesture. 

The question is ? ” 

“ Will my husband forgive me ? ” 

She drew in her breath. Her eyes were fastened on 
Marvel’s. Relief, gratitude, swept over her in a flood. 
“ You — you love Max ? ” she breathed. Her sudden 
joy shone in her eyes. 

I don’t think a woman could be all I ’ve been to 
Max, and not care,” she answered simply. ‘‘ For six 
years I ’ve been his eyes and his hands. And a woman 
is like that ; you ’ll know, if ever there ’s a helpless life 
depending on you — you can’t help loving what leans 
on you ! ” 

Cordelia drew closer. ‘‘ Marvel,” she said, thou 
hast learned the secret of woman’s happiness — to feel 
the clinging hand. Now dost thou think that the one 


From Dark to Dawn 


337 


who hath clung can stand without thee ; that he can 
find peace without thine accustomed ways ? 

That is between Max and me.’' 

And Cordelia understood. 

He will know his best ! Oh, he will know it ! ” 
affirmed she, as she placed both hands on Marvel’s 
arm. With her quick divination she understood that 
what love could not do between husband and wife 
would be ill done. But at the bottom of her heart lay 
a little fear of Max. The dominant note of his charac- 
ter was not submission. And she saw that Marvel 
feared too. 

Go now,” said Marvel. I hear Max moving. 
Send Paul to-morrow.” 

‘‘Wilt thou kiss me?” asked Cordelia. And the 
women kissed. 

“Has Cordelia gone?” called out Max, groping 
his way into the room. “ I heard Cordelia Grey, 
did n’t I ? Come to inquire of the invalid, eh ? Did 
you tell her I ’m as strong as an ox — that I ’ll be up 
on the mountains before twenty-four hours are over my 
head ? ’ ’ He laughed and rattled on without waiting 
for an answer, sitting on the edge of the table, and 
folding his arms. “ Tony counted without the mount- 
ains when he made me your steward. Marvel. I shall 
always be running off* ! How ’s the boy ? and where ’s 
Wynn ? Shall I see everybody to-morrow ? 

“ Perhaps ! ” 

22 


338 


The Untold Half 


He put out his arm and drew Marvel to him. 

That ’s a sparing sort of answer. You Ve econo- 
mised your words lately, do you know ? Tired ? 
Dog-tired, of course you are ; all this nursing has been 
too much for you — with all that went before.** He 
drew a long breath, and held her close with both arms, 
leaning his forehead on her breast. 

It *s sure. The doctor had a long talk just now — 
fine fellow he is too — described an ascent he and two 
fellows made of Mount Cook. Narrow shave ! Stood 
all night on a ridge of ice.** His head was uplifted, 
his expression eager ; his face looked younger than 
Marvel had ever seen it, the tender mouth all smiling 
curves. 

* ^ Think of Switzerland ! * * he exclaimed ; and then 
followed an animated account of what he had heard and 
read. '' We ’ll do it all together, lass ! Ah, Marvel, 
it is n*t fair that you have brought me all this — and 
there ’s my violin ! ** 

“Does it mean so much, then. Max? You have 
never said.** 

‘ ‘ Said ! Some things were too hard to speak of ! * ’ 

His head went down upon her breast again, and as 
he held her she felt the quivering of his arms. Her 
eyes were tender as she looked down on him. This 
spontaneity in him, his unusual enthusiasm, showed 
her how he had repressed, held back, crushed in him- 
self desire, and joy, and ambition ; how terrible had 


From Dark to Dawn 


339 


been the cramping, the defrauding, of his youth. Both 
their minds travelled the same road, for he laughed 
apologetically. 

Some folk have their old age first. I was old at 
ten. I ’m younger at thirty ; young enough to do 
something yet. Marvel, Marvel, I will do something, 
something that shall make you proud of me. ’ ’ 

Don’t, dear.” 

Very well, I won’t.” 

A silence followed. Then Max spoke again ; a tide 
of feeling rose that he could not check. 

' ‘New horizons, new thoughts — a world of thought and 
action all before us. Dear, how I used to envy Wynn 
Winter ! I am not given to envying men, but I envied 
himy She drew her breath, her eyes looked startled. 

“ Sometimes when we were up on M’Kinnon’s Pass 
we sat up half the night talking. He gave me an idea 
of life, intellectual life, the world of thought — his world. 
And what a gulf between him and me ! Not only in 
possession, but in knowledge. But I ’ll bridge it. 
Genius itself is name without knowledge — I learned 
that the night I heard a genius play. We both had 
the same thought — he expressed it, I stuttered it. But 
I shall not always stutter ! Yes,” he reiterated, “ I 
envied Wynn.” He drew Marvel closer. “ I admired 
him so much that I did n’t see how you could help 
admiring him ; he loved beauty so well, I did n’t see 
how he could help loving you ! ’ ’ 


340 


The Untold Half 


Her throat contracted ; she tried for words, found 
none, tried again. 

Max— I did 

He put his hand over her mouth. 

Don’t ! ” he said chokingly. “ Don’t say it. You 
never have said it to me — not to-night, dear. Dear, 
not to-night ! ” His face hardened, then he drew her 
arms round his neck. Let the past go. There is to- 
morrow. I am content. I have heard in your voice 
what I have listened for all my life. I shall see your 
face to-morrow. And I shall see Paul. Your new 
face” — he drew her down and kissed her — “and 
Paul’s will be strange to me. But Wynn’s” — he 
smiled contentedly — “ I can always recall it, always 
could ; it is n’t a face to forget easily. Listen : steady 
grey eyes set in a broad forehead, under finely marked 
brows ’ ’ 

“ Max, you must not. O Max, don’t — you ’re to 
be quiet, you know ! I won’t listen ! I will not 
listen ! I’m going out for a row.” 

She unmoored her boat from the steps — the tide was 
high — and pushed off, not looking back, but pulling 
vigorously, long, steady, splendid strokes. The physi- 
cal exertion relieved the pent-up force of feeling. To 
stay in the house and approach the morrow minute by 
minute meant madness. O blessed peace I blessed 
shadow of the everlasting hills ! On and on, to the 
heart of the deep water, among the phantom mount- 


From Dark to Dawn 


341 


ains, away from man’s voice, away from finite things. 
The tension of thought was broken, the strain upon 
the muscles relieved the nerves. The repression had 
stifled her ; here in the shadowy evening nothing re- 
proached, nothing menaced. Her constitutional reck- 
lessness and daring leapt at release from chains ; the 
old demand for happiness forced through denial, 
clamoured for its birthright. Her perfect health and 
innocent intent cried out for joy. Restraints, the 
freaks of custom, the reticences, perceptions, that im- 
plied past generations of discipline and future niceties, 
fell from her. Nature had burst her bonds, flouted the 
Puritan with her graceful absurdities of denial ; flung 
off the moral struggle, and gave impulse rein. Forget, 
live, be happy, be uncaring, shun pain ! 

The moon came over the silver peaks. Marvel loved 
all bright things, and rested on her oars to look. Lace 
scarfs of mist-cloud festooned about the groves, the 
shimmering, silver-dusted waves made cradles for the 
moonbeams ’ ’ and rocked reflected stars. 

Marvel set sail. Hurrah for a last freedom ! The 
boat rocked, and she laughed at the wind whistling 
round the cords ; she and the boat and the wind were 
one, flying over the water, speeding to the silver falls. 
She was a girl to-night — to-morrow ? She sat down, 
and with infinite sadness in the dark eyes looked com- 
prehensively along the exquisite sweep of water, with 
its forest-fringed towering walls. Time passed un- 


342 


The Untold Half 


heeded ; she and the night, with its haunting voices 
and her despair, were alone. Branded, mocked, she 
saw her grandfather in his youth : weak for an hour, 
strong and strenuous all the time that had gone before 
and come after. But who cared for, remembered, any- 
thing but the one weak hour ? That lost him all 
— love, trust, honour — the long holding on counted 
little, the momentary letting go all. Then why hold 
on ? 

Meanwhile Max stood at the doorway, the cool breeze 
of the autumn night blowing about him, the strong 
sweet smell of forest and water in his nostrils, the 
familiar sound of night-birds and rustling foliage in his 
ears. He was in darkness still, except for a faint 
glimmering through the bandages ; but there was the 
light of expectation upon his face, its glow about his 
heart. 

He went back to the beginning : to Marvel’s advent 
in his life, their long division of sympathy, and all the 
horrors of what had seemed eternal darkness; but what 
mattered since it was over, and Marvel and he were in- 
separably one in interest and affection ? 

But for that strange, unmanageable prejudice, that 
to Wynn he would owe nothing, the effect of the injury 
to his eyes might have been put right long ago. He 
wished he had made no mistake, had never doubted 
him ; and yet, again and again the smarting sense of 


From Dark to Dawn 


343 


injury returned, garnered up since that evening of 
Marvel’s refusal of his love, and her declaration that 
she would go to him from suffering, if at all. Her 
altered manner might merely have been from the effect 
of what Frank Meredith had revealed to her at that 
time. He had scarcely faced the thought that Wynn 
had affected her, yet it was inexplicably there. 

While he pondered, his muscles stiffened — he did not 
realise that while he defended his wife in thought, in 
reality she needed defending against himself. Intoler- 
ance of restraint, implacability of will, had made the 
imperiousness of his rule hard, even to those who loved 
him best. The painful circumstance that had yielded 
Marvel so entirely into his hand, her self-compelling 
passion of subjection, had, unknown to himself, fostered 
that disposition of command, against which Mary 
Meredith had protested, and defended the girl again 
and again ; fear of which the woman he had loved so 
long was fighting, in despair of mercy, although in 
full knowledge of that love. It was, perhaps, as well 
that his hour of humbling was to come before the day 
of his power. He became aware that hours had passed, 
and Marvel had not returned. Her attendance upon 
him had been dog-like in its faithfulness ; no matter 
what the aloofness of his mood, her hands, feet, eyes, 
voice, had been his without the reckoning ; he had 
taken for granted the surrender. Shut up in himself, 
had she been doing subtle penance in the desert ? 


344 


The Untold Half 


A vague uneasiness invaded the autocracy of his 
mind. The memory of her voice as she had spoken 
this evening recurred. It had protest in it. Had she 
gone from the restraint of his presence ? With recol- 
lection that came almost as a shock, the Marvel who 
had flouted him and the Marvel whom he to-night had 
felt tremble in his arms stood in mental juxtaposition. 
There were other things in the world besides her rela- 
tion to him. The consciousness of this was a rekindling 
of his first fear — was he making himself hateful to her ? 

The timepiece in the room behind him struck mid- 
night. All his senses were concentrated upon listening. 
He leant forward from the top step. The sound of 
wind and wave reached him ; no splash of oar greeted 
his accustomed ear. Putting his hand to his mouth 
and throwing back his head, he called, Coo-ee! 
loudly, but getting no answer save that of his own 
voice, which reached far, he called again, ‘ ‘ Coo-ee ! ^ ’ 
The protest and beseeching of his voice were futile ; 
also the impatience. He put his hand to his bandages, 
hesitated, let it fall with a gesture of irritation and 
helplessness, and stood quite still. 

One ! 

He started. The stroke of the clock went through 
him like a sharp knife. The giant frame quivered, as 
it had not quivered under physical pain ; his mouth 
was drawn and set. All along the shore the sobbing 
waves moaned ; shrieks of the wind came from the 


From Dark to Dawn 


345 


gullies. To stand there like a log, helplessly waiting, 
spent his strength more than any strenuous effort of 
the body. Lord, Lord, would she never come ? 

One ! Two ! 

The disproportion between his fear and his hope was 
so great that, when he called again, his voice was 
hoarse and wavering. Stay there while she lost her 
way ? Not longer. She knew the lake almost as well 
as he ; but Manapouri had her treacheries, and had 
deceived her lovers before now. He groped his way 
back into the house, found his boots, woollen jersey 
and cap, put them on with hands that shook, then 
groping with the uncertainty of the sightless not born 
blind, got back to the steps, and descending found the 
tide knee-deep. His boat, where was it moored ? 
One more concentrated effort to listen, one more un- 
answered call. Then he freed his eyes. As God’s dear 
world was given to him, again he gave a cry, and put 
out his hand and held by the rail of the steps to keep 
himself from falling. His voice rattled and gurgled in 
his throat like one dying ; then, with reverent joy, he 
bared his head. He forgot his wife, forgot his quest. 
The dark, deeply lined face was ecstatic ; the deep 
eyes, surrounded by scars, gazed round slowly at his 
beloved peaks dully gleaming under the waning moon 
among the star-spangled mists. Black and deep were 
the inscrutable valleys ; mighty and strong the great 
mountain shoulders upon which the dome of sky 


346 


The Untold Half 


seemed to rest. His feverish, restless impatience was 
quelled ; he drank deep of an exquisite refreshment, 
the uplifting of a man gazing on the face of Nature 
that has been to him his strongest love. 

At last he remembered, but intermittently, as when 
in the hour of gladness one remembers a past grief. 
He saw his old boat, familiar as a well-known face, but 
he did not hurry. His storm of feeling had passed, an 
unreasoned assurance of well-being had taken hold of 
him, as the sight of the child recompenses the mother 
for her doubt and pain. With long, strong strokes his 
oars dipped the shadowy water ; the wind had stilled 
to a gentle whisper, and he listened with grateful 
heart, feasted on ever}^ sombre shadow as night passed, 
and the reluctant dawn came up from an underworld 
of spring, with reminiscence of snowdrop, and daisy, 
and daffodil. 

The two boats met in the dawn. Husband and wife 
gazed at each other through the shadowy light, and 
realised something of what the night had been to each. 
Marvel met the seeing eyes of Max with that quiet of 
fatalism which was characteristic of her in moments of 
crisis. 

“ I went out a long way — farther than I meant — 
but I was coming home,’’ she said. 

And the gladness died in the heart of Max; the pulse 
that had leapt to meet her chilled. 



CHAPTER XXVI 

DISTORTED VISION 

T he morning brought the doctor, who made some 
demur at Max’s masterfulness, although the 
doubtful moment had passed to the scientific mind ; 
but his final visit had been robbed of its eclat. His 
patient had lived through his moment of ecstasy ; he 
found him composed and quiet, and the beautiful young 
wife looking so weary that he thought woman’s treach- 
erous nerves had overtaken her at the reaction, after 
long strain. He took his departure cheerily, one 
more success added to his life of experience and know- 
ledge, with not the vaguest idea that he left possibilities 
of a tempest behind him, that before sunset the man on 
whom his science had conferred new sight would almost 
curse him for the boon. 

The morning hours were hours of truce. Marvel 
would not think. Max knew her cheerfulness was 
forced, but forced his own to meet it. He was at a 
loss, but in the depths of his consciousness knew dis- 


347 


348 


The Untold Half 


aster had overtaken him. There was dim gratitude 
too, that he had not seen that awful look of fear and 
misery on Marvel’s face at his first glance ; the vision 
of the tranquil night intervened between the two dark-^ 
nesses. He thought he knew — she did not love him. 
He had confused her tenderness with love, and all the 
while she had been paying her father’s debt. The 
suffering which spoke in the great sad eyes, the drooping 
mouth, and every line of the face of his wife bereft him. 

She felt his hungry gaze, but would not see. His 
heart was throbbing with the new passion stirred at 
sight of her ; he could not look away, her beauty fast- 
ened the man in him — that strange new man born last 
night in his fear. 

The morning wore to noon. Outside, the misty sun- 
shine and the sweet air ; inside, the man watching and 
the woman listening. He felt a cold prescience of age 
and desertion, as, leaning head on hand, his penetrat- 
ing eyes upon her, he saw his wife wither and grow 
old ; her breath straining her bosom for freedom. He 
leant more forward, half held out his hand to her. But 
she neither saw nor heard her whispered name. For 
what was she listening ? He strained his own ears, 
and caught only the rustle of leaves and the long wash 
of the lake, audible through the open casement. Hark ! 
the helter-skelter of light, hurrying footsteps along the 
veranda and through the lobby, and Paul’s voice 
calling : 


Distorted Vision 


349 


Mummy, Mummy, can Farver Max see ? ” 

Marvel sat rigidly upright and grasped the arm of 
her chair ; the room, the voice, went far, came near 
again, before she heard the question: 

‘ ‘ Can you see 

Then came a long silence, and as the mists slowly 
cleared, with shuddering helplessness the woman turned 
her eyes full of their pitiful terror on the man’s face. 
Max was kneeling on the floor, a caressing, trembling 
arm round the child, whom he drew, and drew so 
closely that his own head was thrown back the better 
to scrutinise the face of Marvel’s son. He had shaven 
himself that morning, and did not at that moment look 
older than his thirty years. The dark massive head, 
the hair of which had fallen over the scar on the tem- 
ple, was held back on the handsome full throat and 
shoulders with the pride of an emperor, the eyes shone 
with a light that matched the sweetness of the mouth. 
Marvel’s heart thrilled ; in that moment she realised 
the tenderness of the lover under that indomitable 
spirit of the young explorer, and as the stern, strong 
face softened and lightened and glowed she caught 
glimpses of future possibilities that made her heart rise 
in passionate protest against that false beginning ! 
Max passed his hand tenderly over the golden hair, 
then turned beseeching eyes upon Marvel. 

Love me,” he pleaded whisperingly. 

‘‘ Max ! ” Her answer was a cry. He did not see 


350 


The Untold Half 


her outstretched hands, his eyes were again upon the 
boy. 

Paul, little Paul, I seem to have seen you always. 
Your face has lain somewhere near my heart ; I feel its 
charm. ’ * 

The man's look was sublime. He thought he saw 
again the face of her he loved. 

Hair, russet gold ! " He kissed it and compared 
it with Marvel's bronze. 

‘^Eyes ?" 

The lad in the intentness of his interest was looking 
so like Wynn that Marvel gasped. But she watched 
it. It was the scene that she had lived through many 
an hour. 

' ‘ ' Steady grey eyes set in a broad forehead under 
finely marked brows.' When did I say that before ? " 
His voice took on a note of sharpness. He glanced 
quickly at Marvel, back to the boy, back again to his 
wife’s grey face, caught his breath, bent with alarmed 
scrutiny over the perplexed child ; and Marvel, fascin- 
ated, watching, saw eyelids and mouth twitch, the 
muscles of the man's throat stretch, the brow contract, 
and the broad chest heave. Hot blood surged over the 
bronzed face, then left it white and set. His hands 
were clutching the boy's shoulders. He turned an im- 
ploring, troubled glance upon Marvel. Her parched 
lips refused utterance. She bowed her head. 

He made no sound. The drooping of the eyelids — 


Distorted Vision 


351 


strained at the corners — the pressure of the upper upon 
the lower lip, the deep indents between the eyes, the 
enlarged nostrils, testified to the restraint he put upon 
his agony. 

“ Don’t you like to see me, Farver Max ? ” queried 
a plaintive, tremulous treble. And Marvel remembered 
always that his answer was to draw the frail little body 
close to his breast, and kiss the upturned lips. 

'' God help us, Paul ! ” he whispered huskily. 

Marvel had a terrible sense of doom. All was ended 
now. All the long patience was fruitless, the teasing 
of the years barren of fruit. Never mind, it was the end. 

She passed her hand over her eyes, and roused to 
find herself alone with Max. He was looking down 
upon her with a terrible face. ‘‘ O Max,” she said, 
“ I am afraid.” 

Thwarted passion was in his face. The stimulus of 
his fatherhood was checked, the delicate fibres of lover 
and husband snapped. The woman who had twined 
herself round his weakness had tricked his confidence, 
duped him. 

Shameless ! ” he muttered. 

She caught his thought, that she had made his name 
her protection. She straightened herself and met his 
eyes. I was Wynn Winter’s affianced wife.” 

He laughed harshly. “ And he ” 

She interrupted with a hasty gesture. He did 
not desert me ! ” She paused, shaken with conflicting 


352 


The Untold Half 


emotions, but his harshness hardened her : she knew 
that she meant to submit in the end, but meanwhile 
Max saw the Marvel of the past. 

‘‘ Why did I break with him ? Out of consideration 
— no, not of you ! I make no such pretence ; but out 
of consideration of Cordelia and Wynn, who loved each 
other. Who, in God’s name, would have done the 
same by me ? And whom did I mean to injure ? Not 
you. Max Hawthorne. I was going a separate way ! ” 

He knew it too well. It was because of it that he 
writhed, because she had loved the other man too ab- 
solutely to tolerate himself. 

“ I asked you would you take a girl out of hell,” she 
proceeded with quiet intensity. Let us talk fair — 
let us face fact. And you answered me — ? What did 
you answer me ? ’ ’ 

I said I would take you ! ” 

Very well, but I would n’t let you. It was only 
when I thought that you were helpless that ” 

''You made your sacrifice ! ” 

His face grew darker. Her gaze lingered on the 
sombre figure. 

"Yes,” she responded to the taunt, " I made my 
sacrifice. I did n’t know then that I needed any man’s 
mercy ” 

He waited. She lifted her head again, and laid great 
emphasis on the words—" or I should n’t have gone 
to you.” 


Distorted Vision 


353 


He winced. 

An intensity entered into her tone that made every 
word tell. 

“ I can’t tell if what I feel is what other women have 
felt, I know so little of other women ; but it is a mis- 
take, it seems to me, to trust oneself too near the man 
that holds the whip. One out of ten might not want 
to use it — a man like Tony, perhaps, whom women 
laugh at and men call a fool. But, all in all, I think 
it easier for a sinner to face the world than trust to the 
mercy of a righteous man. The world ’s not respect- 
able, you see, not as I make it out — charm it, and it is 
lenient — if you hurt yourself more than you hurt it. 
But a man whom you ’ve wronged” — her voice 
dropped to a whisper, her face grew hard almost as the 
face regarding her — ” let the God who made him ac- 
count for him — his mother can’t ! ” 

A moment of hopeless silence, then she went on 
from her accumulated bitterness : 

‘‘ But I don’t ask for mercy — I don’t want it — I 
want love. I ’ve paid my debt — between the lot of 
you you ’ve taken it out of me. I ’ve come to the end 
of paying now ; there ’s a limit to patience, even the 
patience of a sinner.” Her voice broke from its forced 
restraint. I won’t accept mercy. I ’ve fed my 
hungry heart too long on scrag-ends. I ’m too fam- 
ished to make a meal off a bone. I won’t try. 

Whatever has gone before, / love you now — do you 
23 


354 


The Untold Half 


think nothing is true except the past ? If you can’t 
take my love on your knees, as you craved it, I shall 
not kneel for yours. Is this the end of it all. Max ? 
The end of it ? Life and love are soon over if nothing 
lives beyond the need of pardon.” 

Her voice faltered ; she controlled it and looked into 
his burning eyes. “ I am not suing. It lies with you. 
I ask for nothing. It is for you to ask.” 

He walked across the room, threw open the door, 
moved to the table, and lifted his hat lying there ; then 
controlling himself rigidly, faced her with quick breath. 

“ I ask ? Ask you for bondage ? For you to yield 
again as you yielded before, still under the influence 
of another man, with his child between us to keep us 
apart? I am not the sort.” He spoke with low, in- 
tense emphasis. 

A quiver passed over Marvel’s face, the defiance of 
her mood passed. She stepped between Max and the 
door. ” Not the sort of man to love a woman in her 
need ? I thought you were ! ’ ’ 

She meant no reproach ; despair and hopelessness 
were in her eyes and voice. Max felt little and mean — 
a coward. But he hardened his heart. Choking down 
the sob that rose above his rage his gloomy eyes met 
hers. 

There are times when a man can do only one of 
two things — kill or laugh,” he said huskily. As yet 
I cannot laugh. Let me go.” 


Distorted Vision 


355 


She moved from the door without another word, her 
head dropped upon her breast ; her only enfranchise- 
ment lay in pardon, and it was withheld. She cowered 
before the fire chill and weak. Was this man’s love ? 
Father, lover, husband, all had robbed, despoiled, de- 
serted. To give, to lift, to redeem, was this for women 
only ? With desperate courage she had faced the 
worst, with desperate faith hoped for redemption from 
the past. And then recurred the vision of that 
young Meredith who served for his sin right to the 
end. 

‘'There is no pardon!” she cried out bitterly; 
” heaven and earth alike demand the devil’s due.” 
This the best of love I this the best of life I She 
stretched out her hands appealingly in dumb agony, 
her unseeing eyes gazing at the red brightness of the 
room. 

“ He did serve, he did pay I ” she murmured pre- 
sently, going back again to her grandfather’s story. 
” That was the half that was not told, but it was the 
strong half.” 

For an hour she sat staring vacantly into the coals. 
” There is only to pay — and nothing beyond,” she re- 
peated at intervals helplessly, too tired to conceive any 
new beginning. Max had stood for her as salvation, 
and Max had passed out of her life. No wealth of 
cultured intellect gave her precedent, the old story of 
shame and desertion was new to her, the universe be- 


356 


The Untold Half 


yond had no such significance as the pain that vibrated 
through her every nerve. She forgot that she was an 
heiress ; not all the gold on earth could win redemp- 
tion. lyOve only was peace. 




CHAPTER XXVII 

CI^IMBING HIGH 

M ax set his face towards the hills, more by instinct 
than deliberate intent ; he could not bend to this 
yoke without resistance, nor understand that Marvel’s 
past had given him her present to dominate if he would. 
He detached what was from what had been, and flung 
away in jealous fury all that was his own. A madness 
of rage blurred the reality — that the love he had coveted 
from boyhood was within his grasp. In his passion he 
believed that he loathed what he so long had craved : 
all seemed foul that had been beautiful. His pulses 
throbbed with protest ; let him get away, away from 
the sight of the beautiful, sad, haunting face, beyond 
hand’s reach of his enemy. His heart had defined 
this even from the first ; instinct had warned him. 

He crunched through the bracken with hasty strides, 
not lifting his eyes to his beloved scene, drawing the 
labouring breath of one who fights for life. His late- 
born boyhood died within him. The darkness from 
357 


358 


The Untold Half 


which he had emerged was as nothing to the black 
night that settled on his soul. Every faculty was 
baffled, every instinct thwarted. 

He threw himself face downward on the grass, and 
shut out sight of lake and mountain ; drawing back 
from the present, his tortured thought went to the 
past, and wandered through scene after scene of his 
lonely boyhood and youth. Marvel’s figure flitted 
through them all ; had been with him, he told himself, 
in those recurring hours that men called heroic, when 
life and limb counted nothing in the service of his 
fellow-man ; when to gain an unexplored peak was 
victory not mated by its attendant toil. Love of vic- 
tory — was that the mysterious secret of his daring ? 
Had all his courage been but an impetuous dashing of 
himself against a commonplace life and commonplace 
ways ? Was his very love of Marvel but another pas- 
sion to subdue ? to master opposing forces ? He would 
not analyse nor submit. He would take no second 
place. She had passed out of his life ; for the future 
there was left him — ? He raised his haggard face 
and bloodshot eyes. 

‘‘ The everlasting hills,” he murmured. But 

his spirit did not rise to meet the lofty mood of the 
mountains. He dragged his weary body from the 
ground and sought his boat. 

” Not the sort of man to love a woman in her need ? 
I thought you were ! ’ ’ 


359 


Climbing High 

Marvel’s face and voice arrested him. For a moment 
he paused, oars in hand ; then, with a muttered curse, 
pushed off from the shore. 

Twenty-four hours ago to see the sunset had been 
his dearest wish. The curtain of darkness had been 
drawn aside, but his vision was turned inward ; the 
never-ending drama of mist and light for once failed in 
enchantment ; he saw nothing but his loss and the 
weary stretch of years ahead. His proud spirit had 
been brought low, and the sick sense of failure, the 
nausea of defeat, put him out of love with Nature. 
Till this hour her magic had never failed him, all her 
phenomena had compelled attention ; but in the fall of 
his idol, the loss of his ideal, his comprehension of all 
beauty seemed shattered. And, worse than all, he had 
failed himself ! Passion had conquered tenderness ; 
the poet in him was shamed at the man’s vulgarness. 

His face showed the contraction of his mind. He 
bent to his oars and did not see the little figure 
beckoning to him from the shore. Paul, in red 
serge suit, stood breast-high among the fern, like a 
poppy by the water’s edge. Unconscious that the 
thought of him tormented his comrade of the past, 
confident of welcome and mutual interest, he called, 
‘‘ Take me with you, Farver Max.” But the sweet, 
thin voice did not carry, and the boat bore on its 
way. 

A spasm of anxiety passed over the child’s face. 


360 


The Untold Half 


Father Max was going to the mountains — and he was 
going without him ! 

Farver Max ! ’^ he called. You promised to take 
me — coo-ee ! 

But his call trailed off over the water fruitlessly, and 
the back of his chum struck a sort of despairing chill 
to the warm childish heart. 

Yes,’’ he gasped, bobbing up and down in his agi- 
tation, ‘‘ he is going without me.” 

The sweet mouth quivered, and the serious grey eyes 
filled so that the vanishing boat, the lake, sky, and 
mountains, were jumbled up together in mist. He, 
Paul, had never deserted Father Max when he could not 
see. Unpardonable — intolerable ! He choked back the 
tears. He must go — he must see the high peaks, and the 
snow-fields, and the white fiowers. With an uplifting 
of the head, like Wynn’s when he defied defeat, and a 
compression of the lips, he hastily surveyed the scene, 
making swift calculation. About half a mile distant 
there was a rugged jutting headland, past which Max 
must go ; to reach it over the loose stones of the beach 
in time to meet the boat was impossible, but there was 
a short cut through the bush. Father Max was close 
inshore, and while rounding the promontory he, Paul, 
would take the bee-line and be at the headland before 
the deserter. He darted into the bush, aromatic in 
autumn foliage, the great evergreens arching and link- 
ing arms, under which the eager speck of humanity 


361 


Climbing High 

sped, unheeding the purple and gold moss carpet be- 
neath his impatient feet, or the shadows of the dim 
forest cloisters — his eyes were fixed upon the opening, 
and the patch of water revealed red in the lurid sunset. 
Often he stumbled, once he rolled over for a pace or 
two. A frolicsome bough caught and retained his little 
red cap, but in this race with Fate the lad disregarded 
hurt and defied hindrance. His face had paled, the 
blue veins stood out on the delicate temples, his breath 
coming pantingly, and his fair hair streaming behind 
him. Childlike, there was no other time to him, now 
was the supreme moment ; if he missed joy to-day it 
was lost. He must see the stars over the snow-domes : 
it had been promised him ; and while the stern-browed 
man on the lake put strong oar- strokes to their division, 
the little lad, who knew nothing of separation and 
could not understand desertion, flew to reunion. 

He came out upon the headland as into a transforma- 
tion scene of fire from the setting sun, blinding his eyes 
and making his dizzy brain whirl. The mountains 
dipped and the waves rose up — but hurrah ! on the 
crest of a wave came the boat. Exultant, palpitating, 
he stretched out appealing arms. 

“ Take me 1 ” he cried, staggered, and fell into the 
enveloping darkness. 

The sudden apparition of the lad, from the thought 
of whom Max fled, startled the man. The panting 
figure standing so perilously near the edge of the rock 


362 


The Untold Half 


put to flight all other consideration. ‘ ‘ Stand back ! ’ ' 
he called, as Paul tottered and fell into the deep water 
beneath the rocks. The splash of the small body was 
almost immediately followed by a louder splash ; an in- 
stant later and the fair head rose above the surface. 
With a vigorous stroke or two Max reached the spot 
and had the small body within one sheltering arm, 
while with the other he made for the boat, gaining 
which he deposited his burden and scrambled in after 
it. The lethargy of the last few hours had fallen from 
him, gloom and hardness left his countenance ; in the 
electrical moments that followed, the profoundest reality 
that life held to him was the white motionless face at 
the bottom of the boat, framed with the dripping golden 
hair. His tall frame was bent, the tyrannous hand 
swift, gentle, and deft ; but when, after absorbing end- 
less minutes, Paul gave no sign of consciousness, the 
grey of cheeks and dark shade under the closed eyes 
deepening, with a stifled cry Max with trembling 
hand sought for his flask, and enveloping the cold 
little limbs in a mackintosh, drew them to the warmth 
of his bared breast and forced a few drops of the spirit 
between the closed lips. He felt no cold himself, a 
fever of anxiety surged hot blood through his veins, 
the throbbing of his own pulses deceived him several 
times for the beating of the still heart. At last the 
heavy eyelids trembled, the grey eyes unclosed. A 
moment to take in the exquisite fact that he was held 


Climbing High 


363 


closely in Father Max^s arms, where nestling had ever 
meant security and content, then he smiled with in- 
effable sweetness. 

“ I catched you,’’ he said faintly. We ’ll — 
climb— high ! ” 

How long Max sat straining Marvel’s dead child to 
his heart he did not know. The sweet little face was 
turned towards him with a blue bruise on the temple, 
and the confiding smile that still lingered on the pale 
lips attested to the terms of camaraderie^ the intimacy 
that had been between them. The irony and bitter- 
ness of the lad’s glad words were mingling with a 
poignant sense of loss. Caught him ? Ah, yes, 
he was basely deserting ! Climb high ? God, how 
could he go home and tell the child’s mother ? Fate 
had derided his effort to escape, forced him to an ugly 
task. 

He looked round wildly as for deliverance, and be- 
came conscious of the rugged landscape illuminated by 
the purple light of evening, lights varying with the 
vapours that enveloped the distant objects ; he heard 
once more the soft murmur of cascade and the call of 
nesting bird — awoke, as it were, from a dream, fiend- 
peopled, to find his boat drifting nearer and nearer to 
that ruddy window gleaming across the quiet, darken- 
ing water. 

For the first time he was freed from the exacting in- 


364 


The Untold Half 


dividuality that had marred his love ; remorse, pity, 
rose above self-seeking. How go in and take Marvel 
her child ? 

He staggered into the firelit room like one whose 
burden was too heavy, his sodden clothes clinging to 
his magnificent frame, his broad chest and sinewy arms 
as he had bared them for the plunge, Paul closely 
folded to him. What he had meant to say — the 
tenderest that gathered and shaped itself in the scat- 
tered rays of his new consciousness — was arrested on 
his tongue. Marvel, with dishevelled hair and staring 
eyes, sat looking into the burning logs, talking in- 
coherently. She turned her head as Max entered, but 
did not appear to recognise him. 

‘‘ Now mark,’’ she said, holding up her finger as 
though to impress her meaning, Mary Meredith was 
dying — our common mother — to go for Max was the 
only way to appease her ” 

A deadly chill fell upon the man’s heart. Was 
Marvel mad ? His experience of illness was limited, 
and so long as he could remember Marvel had never 
been ill. In petrified silence he stood rooted to the 
spot. In the secret recesses of his mind he blamed 
himself for this, and the blame scorched him. He 
groped his way to the rough couch, and gently laid 
down his burden ; then, with the agony of doubt still 
overmastering him, crying in his heart for mercy, he 
sank down at his wife’s feet, encircling her with his 


Climbing High 


365 


arm. She paid no heed to his caress, to his self-abase- 
ment ; but with a dry, hard voice said, “ Paul is dead ; 
drowned in Manapouri. I saw him tall.” 

In the intolerable moment that followed, the rising 
autumn wind could be heard outside, and the splash 
of oars and grating of a boat against the steps. Marvel 
rose, her great eyes shining in the firelight, and, as 
though she saw through the walls, went quietly to the 
door and opened it, repeating mechanically, Paul is 
dead ; drowned in Manapouri.” 

A word of protest, quick steps, and Wynn was in the 
room. Whatever his errand, it was forgotten now. 

Why — what?” he ejaculated hastily; then the 
firelight revealing the swathed figure ; without glance 
or word for Max he slipped to his knees beside the 
couch and removed the covering. For a moment his 
breath failed him, his head sank into his hands. When 
he lifted his head again. Max, watching, saw the deli- 
cate nostrils quivering — saw, too, the grey hair and the 
lines seven years had drawn upon his rival’s face. In 
his double blindness he had pictured him ever the gay 
and dSbonnaire man he had last looked upon. 

' Sir, I am Paul,’ ” murmured Wynn in bitterest 
memory, oblivious of criticism, heedless of decorum. 
Looking up, the eyes of the two men met over the 
body of Marvel’s son. No word was spoken ; anger, 
recrimination, reconciliation, were alike useless. But 
Max knew that while Wynn lived, through any eager- 


366 


The Untold Half 


ness of genius, any pomp or glory of fame, the little 
still face of Paul would smile to humble and to hurt. 

Marvel bent down and touched Wynn gently, then 
let her hand stray to the wet hair. 

“ Quite dead,” she said softly — ‘‘ quite, quite dead! ” 
then, with a sudden change of voice and manner, as 
though realisation had smote her — To the uttermost 
farthing ! ” she cried ; “to the uttermost farthing ! ” 
Then to neither of the two men who sprang to her did 
she cry, but to the woman — “ Cordelia ! ” 

The soft snow was coming “ down and down,” as 
little Paul would have said, obliterating the new-made 
grave on the hill beside “ the lake of the sorrowing 
heart,” blotting out the forest, shrouding the great 
mountains, and in all that vast silent world only the 
little cottage on the beach showed gleam of light or 
sign of life ; and here was enacting one of the last 
scenes in a girPs life of that old drama of human pas- 
sion which is the world's leveller. 

Wynn Winter paced noiselessly but swiftly up and 
down the cottage veranda. As he crossed the light 
thrown from an open window the mackintosh cloak 
and broad-brimmed hat that he wore were revealed 
white with snow ; but he felt neither cold nor fatigue, 
he was consumed by a fire of torturing suspense. A 
few hours would leave him self-condemned for ever, or 
set him free in humblest gratitude to build from new 


367 


Climbing High 

conception of life. If Marvel slept that night she 
would live, had been the verdict ; and hour after hour 
she babbled incessantly, the very vitality that had 
served her so long exhausting in her extremity. 

Wynn paused for the hundredth time before the 
window — wide open to admit the air — and gazed on 
the scene within, that was so like that scene when the 
white-robed Quakeress first took pre-eminence in his 
heart. She was little changed, except that the ex- 
quisite face, turned to the fever- flushed face upon 
the pillows, wore a look of deeper meaning, wider 
knowledge ; the star-like eyes were not so far-gaz- 
ing, but in their tender, shortened vision showed 
consciousness of mortal frailty, and compassion for 
mortal pain. 

Wynn’s heart expanded as he beheld her ; though 
he lost her irrevocably, she had been the influx of new 
life to him. He knew without her telling, that in her 
inexorable sense of justice she would deem it monstrous 
to take happiness were Marvel denied ; her wedded love 
would be her free gift, or it would never be his : she 
would drive him back to loneliness, teach him how to 
live it to maintain the struggle, waste her youth and 
beauty in endurance, but demand from him a life for 
a life.” Fate had so ordained it that the supreme ex- 
perience of Marvel’s life was the supreme experience 
of three other lives. He had been ready enough to 
take, Wynn told himself, willing to stake all for fame’s 


368 


The Untold Half 


sake — but success ? If he might not hope and love, be 
free to live again, was it success ? If only he could 
gather all dire consequence to himself his forfeiture of 
happiness had been a just price. 

Cordelia met his eyes for a moment with a lingering 
soft look, as though, while he leaned there against the 
window, she had followed his battle, step by step. A 
faint flush tinted her cheeks, her eyes suddenly filled, 
but in the next instant her steady gaze was on Marvel’s 
face again ; she lifted a cool soft hand to shade the 
wide, dark, brilliant eyes that wandered from face to 
face without recognition, short muttered sentences fall- 
ing into the stillness of the room. 

Max, as though unable to meet the unseeing glances 
of the shining eyes, stood with his head buried on his 
arms leaning on the foot-rail of the bed, absorbed in his 
own thoughts. In an occasional silence he looked up 
breathlessly, but would not seem to listen to that ‘ ^ un- 
told half” which fell in broken bits into his sore heart, 
instructing him of another soul’s suffering, convicting 
of stupidity and density, pleading for consolation, and 
deliverance, and warm human love. 

Another glance at Max and with compressed lips 
Wynn walked again to the veranda’s edge. 

Hark ! ” cried Marvel’s voice in the peculiar 
strained tone of delirium. “ Do you hear the falling 
water ? Mount Baloon is all in darkness ! Snow ! 
I ’ ve lost the way and missed Max. ’ ’ 


Climbing High 369 

Nay, sister,’’ came Cordelia’s soothing accents, 
'' thy way is not lost, and thou hast found Max.” 

A moment’s silence, then again the restless tossing 
and muttered words which rose to defiance: ‘‘ A man’s 
works live after him. ... I will paint my picture. 

. . . But what ’s to become of me ? . . . don’t 

I count in anywhere ? . . . I am your debtor. 

. . . Wynn loves Cordelia Grey . . . there is 

a place I can make for myself. . . . We make 

environments. Miss Grey . . . life gets blocked 

. . . the living soul can’t stagnate. ... I 

love you now, Max. Rememher not past years y 
To each brain there another picture rose of this same 
room, this same song. The fair head with its crown 
of golden braids was lifted ; once before Cordelia’s gift 
of song had conquered. A thrill of expectation and 
hope seemed to rouse both men. Could she meet the 
unspoken demand, would the soul-stirring strain be 
the lullaby to that tired spirit fighting its lonely way 
through pitiless darkness ? 

Cordelia’s lips parted, and the rich voice, low and 
tremulous, fell like cooling balm on the smarting 
hearts ; her own spirit overcame its doubt and she 
triumphed over human conflict. 

I was not ever thus, nor prayed that Thou 
Shouldst lead me on ; 

I loved to choose and see my path ; but now 
Lead Thou me on. 


370 


The Untold Half 


I loved the garish day, and, spite of fears, 

Pride ruled my will : remember not past years.’* 

As the supplication ended a long-drawn breath made 
music to the listeners ; the sad dark eyes were softly 
closed — Marvel was fast asleep. 

Tip-toe Max crept to the veranda, the two men 
wrung hands, and stood together in silence, looking 
out into the snow. 




CONCLUSION 


TWO LETTBRS 


<( 


London. 


OMAN whom I love, I break the silence of 



three years because my heart hungereth for 


news of thee. A year ago my grey-haired child was 
put to sleep (no other hath taken his place), and since 
then, till yesterday, my husband and I have travelled. 

“ To-day is the last of the year, and the snow lying 
deep bringeth memory of the past. 

My news, dear heart, is soon told to thee. 

Wynn dreameth of another picture. He has not 
spoken of it until now, for he was busy deluding my 
father with the idea that his hour of inspiration had 
come. He left earth happy in the delusion ; not the 
only child to whom illusion hath been content- 
ment ! 

‘ ‘ I fear words lest they fall harshly on thine ear, but 
if from the fulness of my life I can serve thee, use me, 
for thyself or thy work, for rumour hath reached us of 
thy doings. I, who have no claims of motherhood, 


371 


372 


The Untold Half 


would fain, from my full life and leisure, give some- 
what to the common need. 

^ * Dear, may we not meet ? May I not see thy little 
daughter ? And tell me of thy giant. We were enter- 
tained in Switzerland by stories of his daring, to which 
Wynn added others, proud to call him friend. Nay, I 
cannot say what I would ! The individual soul alone 
realiseth its own good. I mine ! thou thine ! 

‘‘ Thy sister in love, 

‘‘ Cordelia.*^ 

Devon. 

‘‘ CORDEEIA DEAR, — 

My little Alice has my mother’s face, and Max 
worships her. I don’t think she ’ll be clever in any 
way at all — only sweet. This is her birthday, and 
every child in the village is to be made happy to-day. 
Max has organised a great feast. He has the history 
of each child and their accumulated desires at his heart. 
Tony was right ! Cordelia, how did Tony get to know 
him ? He has done all and more than even he be- 
lieved. The people respect him, the children love 
him. They watch his comings and goings, and trot in 
groups after him along the streets. He rules his king- 
dom ; but at home he is ruled. 

About what you call my ' doings ’ ; will you help ? 
I ’ll tell you. Charles Marvel, my mother’s father, at 
his death bequeathed me what should have been my 


Two Letters 


373 


mother’s. It is not possible that I could benefit by 
that which should have succoured her. But I think 
if she knew she would be pleased that in her name help 
was given to homeless girls in the great City. And 
so, Cordelia, if you will, where shall we meet to talk 
of this ? 

Your loving 

“ Marve;i..” 

THK Knd 



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